


Virgin K

by marinoxx



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Sexual Dynamics, Angst, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Crime AU, Future Earth AU, Grey-A Keith, Hurt/Comfort, Improbable Physical Feats, M/M, Oral/Anal Sex, Sexy Bathtime, Sexy Candy, Sixth Senses, Tags updated as chapters roll in, Ultraviolence, blinding u with science, side Allurance, straight up murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2018-10-30 07:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 99,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10872351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinoxx/pseuds/marinoxx
Summary: Caught flat-footed after a misstep, Keith finds himself accepting work with a cryptic man and a beautiful alien.His heartbeat is driving him mad. He wishes that man would keep his crystal visions to himself.More than what it says on the tin. Crime AU for @synnesai on tumblr.





	1. soothsayer

**Author's Note:**

> _Now here I go again; I see the crystal vision. I keep my visions to myself._   
>  _It's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams, and... have you any dreams you'd like to sell? Dreams of loneliness?_

_Three years_ , Keith realized at 6 PM on a Thursday night. He was still in bed, lying there too groggy to get up and too restless to get back to sleep.

Already three years in the city and he still wasn’t desensitized—not to the traffic, nor the flashing lights, nor the noisy chatter of people passing by his window like they were right now. Well. This was just what it was like, living in a metropolis like this, and Keith couldn’t say no one warned him.

A few did, in fact. His physics instructor, back in high school; the caretaker, when he came of age and was forced out of his room at the orphanage, left standing in golden fields of wheat. His father too, just before he died. Keith was five. _Promise me you won’t go roaming like your mother. I want you to live your whole life out here in the quiet._ And what life was that? Whatever it was supposed to be, it was over at eighteen. _It’s not your fault that you don’t know. You couldn’t know. But it’s not what you think_.

He would admit that he had been attracted by the glamour of what he’d seen on the television—personal fabricators, sleek airships. Alien technology. But as drawn as he had been to the wonders of scientific advancement, that alone wasn’t ultimately why Keith left. It seemed like those who hadn’t found themselves stuck here like himself had moved into the city in search of a transformation, whether that be a monetary or intrapersonal one, and the reclamation that came with finding it. Keith was here because he had nowhere else to be. He’d never had the chance to make a real decision for himself. Keith operated to survive, not to dream. He lacked any ambition to chase after the fictional redemption of making a change. That had been true since when he was rejected upon application from the aeronautics institute, the only reason he’d blown his savings to move here in the first place.

Keith twisted his head to the left to watch the sun encroach upon the skyline, the day’s warmth all but stolen. He probably wasn’t meant to grow used to it. Rurality and the isolated lifestyle that came with it was a part of him, flowing through his veins natural as blood. But Keith wasn’t an island, no matter how he might try to be, and the invisible need for _freedom_ was starting to bleed past his perimeter, turning these protective walls he’d erected into something like a chrysalis, maybe. Blurry shapes drifted by beyond the translucent shell—no, no those were only clouds. Keith was just a sleepy boy staring out his window at the dusky sky.

…Yeah. It was time to get up.

Surfacing from the womb of his bed, Keith meandered into the kitchen to see Pidge sitting there in the dying sunlight. She shoved a bowl of oatmeal at him as he approached without ungluing her eyes from the television. He caught it as it flew off the countertop, bending over the island to fish a tablespoon from the drawer. The one he grabbed was bent. Of course.

Pidge spoke at last as he was cleaning the water spots off with his rough T-shirt. “You look like shit.” Her eyes roamed over him. “And your ass is hanging out.”

Keith reached back to pull his boxer briefs into place. “…Thanks.”

“The parts shop called,” Pidge announced, waiting for his full attention before continuing. “Apparently you had a shift today. You’re fired.”

“Whatever,” said Keith, shoving cold oatmeal into his mouth. Not whatever. That was a good job. That was an _easy_ job. Was an easy job. Fuck. _Fuck_.

She lowered the volume and plucked at the pilling on the old track pants she was wearing as a commercial started for the latest model of luxury hover car. “I would say you should get a planner to actually keep track of your shifts, since your cell isn’t doing it for you. But you don’t exactly have a job anymore, so I guess it would be a moot point.”

“Bitch,” Keith clenched.

“Cunt,” Pidge shot back, never missing a beat. She swiveled in her chair to stare him down, resuming her monologue when Keith failed to retaliate with anything but passive-aggressive mastication. “I’d also say that you need to get a new job so you can contribute to our household, considering it’s my name on the lease for this place, but you do scrounge up money to help with the bills, so I guess I can’t complain.”

“I don’t _scrounge_ anything.”

Pidge waved him off without bothering to look away from the screen. “Lance called, too. Said you guys have a job, tonight? I thought you had a race.”

“Nah,” Keith answered. “That got moved to Saturday. Did he ask you to do a camera check?”

“Obviously. And I did it, but it’s so tiny that I didn’t find any.” Pidge slid off her stool to get a juice pack from the fridge. “Dunno why Lance is so interested. Guess you’ll find out in the morning. You’ll let me know how it goes, right?”

“Yeah, I mean,” said Keith, looking into the void of his empty bowl. “I always do.”

Pidge extended a hand to ruffle the bird’s nest shadowing his eyes. “Be careful.” Her fingers caught on a knot. “And do something about your hair.”

Street racing. If there was one thing Keith absolutely would not give up, that was it.

Was it illegal? Yeah. But that didn’t matter. It didn’t even matter that he was particularly gifted at it—that wasn’t why he’d kept at it long enough to make a false name for himself in certain circles. No. Keith would be a husk without the addictive charge of a thrill. Racing—the leathery taste in his mouth that came with fresh competition—the exhilarating risk of death with one wrong move at breakneck speed, and the occasional fight that broke out after the race— _that_ was his drug of choice, _that_ was the liquid in his lungs as he let that lucent shell of adrenaline knit closed over his head. There were worse addictions, probably. Ones that came with a guarantee to kill you instead of just a warning label.

None of that was to mention the decent revenue in terms of prize money—fantastic revenue, actually—but whether he could get it was dependent on the availability of a race and the absence of law enforcement. The recent crackdown had left both him and the streets feeling rather dry. That would leave an as-of-recently unemployed Keith utilizing a secondary avenue conducive to cash flow as well as the occasional blitz to his adrenal gland. As it turned out, that avenue would involve Lance, and a little dash of larceny.

“Keith,” Lance bantered as he slipped in to join him behind a metal dumpster. “How nice of you to show up.”

“Shut up, Lance, I’m not even late,” Keith snapped, adjusting his ribbed beanie. Lance chuckled and slapped him between the shoulder blades with a little too much moxie.

“Ha. That’s what I meant! You look like shit, by the way.” Lance squinted at his head. “What’s up with the hat? Your hair’s already black, whaddya need that for?”

“It was supposed to be cold tonight, Lance. You think I do shit for fucking fashion?”

Lance just slapped him again, nodding to himself in amusement. “I know why you’re in a mood. You got fired. I heard. But don’t you worry, buddy. I’ve got it handled tonight.”

That honestly worried Keith more than their chosen target. It wasn’t a definite, but he had noticed a relationship between the occasions Lance reassured him that everything was covered and the occasional instances that things went to shit. The problem wasn’t that Lance was stupid, because he wasn’t. The things he took care of were always square. It was the things Lance forgot or didn’t think to check that were an issue; an issue that Keith tried to circumvent by being there for the planning stages of the operation, though that wasn’t always possible if Lance decided not to call.

He had been this way since they’d met, back before he’d moved in with Pidge, back when the two of them worked in adjoining shops on Main, meeting up on lunch breaks to shoot the shit and watch well-to-do extraterrestrial aircrafts land on the multistoried trading office down the street. With no friends, Lance stopped getting under his skin after about a month. And with no money after they’d both gotten fired, Lance was the one to suggest they hit the first floor of that trading office and sell whatever client information they could find. Keith said yes. And so it was.

Keith dragged a hand over his face and decided against his gut. “Why am I here, Lance?”

Lance beamed. “Okay, Texas, here’s the deal. You know this is a watch store, because you can read the sign out front. But I’ve been seeing some expensive-looking deliveries arriving whenever I stop by the deli over there. You know, the kind you have to sign for? I don’t know what’s in the boxes, but I figured it doesn’t matter if someone’s willing to pay the right price, am I right or am I—”

“Let me get this straight,” Keith interrupted. “You called me to help you steal something. But you don’t know what we’re going to steal. You want to decide that on the fly.”

“Well nothing would sound very good if you put it like that, now would it?”

Keith wasn’t done. “And now we’re a couple of assholes crouched behind a stinking fucking dumpster at two AM. And you choose now to hit me with this information. When you _just_ told me you had it handled.”

“Whatever, gringo. You in or not?” Lance was pursing his lips. Ugh.

Keith groaned in defeat. “Just tell me what to do.”

The target was half-baked, but at least the plan wasn’t. Up the fire escape. In through a doorway on the rooftop. Down one story to the first floor. Bust the safe, make off with the loot the same way they came, back home in time for a late dinner. It sounded solid, and that’s what Keith was thinking, from the first rung of the fire escape to the quiet _click, click_ of a hairpin as Lance picked the rooftop lock. Keith hadn’t seen a manual lock since leaving the countryside. How bemusingly retro.

“The pin’s no good,” Lance was vexing, fingers sloppy with impatience.

“No such thing,” said Keith. “Move.” He raised a foot, lining it up just above the catch. Lance winced as Keith smashed the door in with a kick. “That’s what you should’ve done in the first place.”

The first vowels of a comeback died on Lance’s tongue as sirens flooded the quiet street. Lance seized Keith, yanked him down onto his stomach—pressed them both into the rough grit of the concrete until the noise faded into the steel jungle of the city, taking the lurid red glow of emergency vehicles with it. Keith let his air out in a sputtering exhale. Lance was still holding his breath.

“An accident, maybe,” Keith whispered, tugging on the wide collar of his dark jacket as they crept back upright. “Or another break-in. Whatever it is, it’s not us.”

Lance sniffed and yanked his running shorts back down as he sauntered into the dark mouth of the doorway, rattled cage be damned. “Let’s just do this and get the hell out of here.”

If the staircase was small, then the shop was tiny. The place didn’t look like it got a lot of customers nor product turnover, and the thick layer of dust on the glass display cases reinforced that. Keith was overcome with a rocky wave of unease.

“A place with no sales shouldn’t be getting shipments on a regular basis,” Keith said as Lance poked around, keeping his voice low. “Something’s off.”

“You saying you think this place is a front?” Lance asked, emerging from behind the counter to continue his search.

Keith didn’t move away from the staircase. “I’m saying I think we should get out of here. You have Hunk waiting down the street, right?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Lance replied. “Look, it’s fine. I’m not seeing much anyway. Think that stuff is gone. Grab some of the stuff in the case and we’ll be done.”

Keith went into the belly of the shop to look for an object to break the glass, opening a cupboard, then a drawer full of watchmaking tools. He was about to grab a screwdriver and bludgeon his way through the case when another siren blared—this one an alarm, and this one inside the shop. Keith dashed back to the storefront to find Lance frozen with one hand on the knob of a closet. Inside was the largest and most _expensive_ safe Keith had ever seen, big enough to fill the doorway, frame reinforced and edges soldered to the inside hinges.

“ _What the fuck did you do?!_ ” Keith roared over the alarm.

“I didn’t fucking do anything!” Lance snatched his hand back, panic superseding his stupor. “I just opened the door, I swear—”

“That’s a biomechanic lock, Lance, what the _fuck!_ ” Keith yanked him backward by the collar as police sirens started in the distance, _definitely_ coming for them this time. “We’re leaving _now!_ ” Their sprint for the door halted as streetlights flooded the entrance.

“Back to the roof,” Lance gasped. “They wouldn’t think we came in that way. There’s a shot.” He clambered for the staircase, Keith on his heels. Back on the rooftop, they looked over the edge of the building by the dumpster to find a single glossy hover car idling in the narrow alley. Keith exchanged a look with Lance as the emergency sirens screeched onto the adjoining street.

Keith cleared his throat. “Model’s too pricey to be a cop. Let’s go.” Lance took his word for it, jumping down and rolling off the dumpster onto the concrete. He wasn’t quite the picture of grace, but it was effective, so Keith followed him and— _shit_ , that hurt, and _God_ he needed a minute, and _fuck_ if both their idiot asses weren’t going to prison. A tinted window slowly rolled down as they were both lying there gasping in the gutter. Keith squinted inside the cab and saw a man in the driver’s seat resting his weight on the steering wheel, face hidden behind the visor of a trim black helmet.

“Get in the car,” he prompted. Keith shivered at the unhurried cadence of his voice. “You fell hard, but it wasn’t that far. Get up.”

“Hell no!” Lance cried, still visibly shaken. “Why the shit would we get in?!”

The helmet tipped toward the street corner as Keith let Lance help him up. “Because if you don’t you’re going to get caught.”

“Lance. Hunk should have been here.” Keith couldn’t believe he’d forgotten such an essential detail. “He wouldn’t have just left us.”

“I already had someone pick up your friend,” said the man behind the visor. What? “They’ll be back here any second now. Get in.”

“No,” bit Lance.

“Please.” The words were strained. “ _Trust_ me.” Keith’s throat was closing, his feet were moving on their own—he had one hand on the door handle, the other on Lance’s wrist. Lance objected loudly, but Keith had leverage once in the backseat. It was no sooner than the car lifted from the pavement that the crime squad came shouting down the mouth of the alley, but they were already peeling out, speeding up and out over the short edifice of the shop and weaving away between skyscrapers toward the city center. This was the kind of driving you lose your license for, _this_ was a rush. Keith was applauding his decision already.

“Uh,” Lance said, as one of the cruisers appeared in the rear windshield. “You see that, right?”

“If you got in when I told you to this wouldn’t have been an issue,” was the collected reply. The helmet rotated to face the backseat. “…Keith.”

Keith’s traitorous body shuddered again at the shape of his name in a mouth that shouldn’t know it. “What?” Lance’s questioning glances were like bullets in his side.

“Come here.” The request was soft. “I need you to steer.”

Keith climbed over the front armrest and straddled the transmission, hooking one leg over the helmeted man’s lap to gun the engine. He hadn’t been this impulsive since his first joyride. Lance bent forward between the seats, eyes wide.

“If you fuckin’ kill me tonight, Keith, I swear to God I will _haunt_ your ass.”

“Good luck haunting me if we’re both dead, motherfucker,” Keith countered, gripping the wheel.

“No one is going to die,” sighed the man in black, reaching over Keith to retrieve a handgun from the glovebox and cocking it with one hand. He flipped over, twisting his body over Keith’s legs and leaning out of the still-open driver’s-side window. Keith bit his lip as the solid frame pressed into him, and he _should not_ be liking this, _what_ the actual _fuck—_

“Hold it straight for a moment.” Keith reoriented until they were parallel with the flow of traffic. “Yeah. Just like that.” Keith clenched his jaw and waited for it, the shot; there it was, and the cruiser’s engine was blown, the silhouette of the vehicle dipping out of sight in the mirror. Keith let himself be nudged into the passenger seat, a large hand shepherding his thigh over the console as the masked man eased back behind the steering wheel.

Lance yanked the drawstrings of his hoodie closed as Keith relinquished the wheel. “Christ. You just shot a cop. Christ!”

“Not a cop, a cop car,” corrected the stranger, turning the car around. “There’s a difference.”

“Why were you waiting on the street?” Keith demanded, nails digging into his palms to shake the lingering scorch of adrenaline. “How did you know we were in there?”

“Because I was supposed to hit that place later in the week.” He could hear a smile, in that voice. “I’ve got a couple cameras up the street monitoring the entry points. I saw you go in and knew you’d trip the alarm.”

Keith restrained himself from asking about the contents of the safe. He had a better, burning question. “Why do you know my name?”

The helmet tilted toward him for an instant. “We’ve met before.” How was that possible? The blind shielding his face was one thing, but Keith didn’t imagine he could forget a voice like _that_ , one that physically affected him like _this_.

He pushed that thought aside in the name of pragmatism. “Is that why you’re acting like you expected to see me?” Keith would expect some degree of surprise if he ran into someone he knew in the middle of a robbery. “You knew it was me when you came to get us.”

“No,” the helmeted man calmly returned, “but I knew I would see you again. I just didn’t know it would be today.”

Keith sat back to digest that response, picking at the ridged pads on his jacket and listening to Lance fidget until he eventually settled down, too. The rest of the ride was all but silent.

*

They pulled into a high-rise car park after a while, climbing out once the car was offline and following their guide—who was bigger than Keith had realized—into the building proper. The three of them boarded an elevator that, impossibly, continued up.

“Exactly how rich are you?” queried Lance, suspicious.

“I’m not rich at all,” chuckled the man in black, just as the doors slid open. Lance gripped Keith’s arm before he could follow him out, holding him back at the elevator’s threshold.

“We gotta get outta here, man,” Lance hissed. “This guy plays rugby or some shit. He looks like he could snap me like a twig.”

“No,” Keith retorted, brushing him off. “He could snap _me_ like a twig. He’d snap _you_ like a toothpick.” He strode off in pursuit, leaving Lance to trail behind with a rejected pout.

The man in the helmet had passed through a large and posh-looking set of double doors, leaving one side ajar after an affirming glance over his shoulder. Lance grasped Keith’s forearm again as they entered, eyes adjusting to the change in lighting. Keith understood now. This was a penthouse, a new construction one at that, and whoever lived here wasn’t finished moving in if the sparse furniture and bare walls were any indication. The recessed lighting over the door was a cold blue and white. It looked custom, but maybe it wasn’t. When it came to interior design, the urban trends changed as often as the weather.

A woman was standing in the far corner, speaking to the man they’d come with. Lance was towing Keith now, desperate for a better look, because there was _no way_ she could have cloud-white hair, shimmering down far past the empire waist of her nightgown, and it was _unthinkable_ that her eyes shift color like that—and yet it was, she was the real deal, and her eyes were a swirl of blue and pink and turquoise, and sure, she was the most beautiful woman Keith had ever seen, but at least he had the decency not to be starstruck about it.

Lance, however, was drooling. Disgusting.

“What,” the man in the helmet playfully asked as they approached. “You’ve never seen an alien before?”

Keith forced a shrug. “Not like that.”

“Will you marry me?” Lance begged, shoving Keith behind him so hard he stumbled. The poor woman looked disturbed, and Keith was right on the cusp of anger when the man he’d been sitting next to for half an hour finally took off his helmet. Keith watched him ruffle air into his fade. He had dark hair…no, his hand was gone now, revealing a shock of white fringe that receded back toward the crown of his head. He’d turned to face Keith—purposely, he knew, so Keith could get a good look at him—and please, no, he was _entirely_ too attractive, so much so that Keith wasn’t sure if he wanted to huddle in close or _run_. Keith clutched at his wits like pearls as he was socked with a crooked smile.

“Do you remember me yet?”

Keith cautiously shook his head, fixed on the jagged edge of a scar transversing the bridge of that straight nose. His face was familiar, somehow, or maybe only reminiscent of someone, but there was no placing him in Keith’s memory. “Are you an alien too?”

“No.” He was graced with the bow of one dense eyebrow, crooked smile widening enough to even out. “Are you?”

Sweat. Keith was much too warm. He shifted uncomfortably, sleeves pulling taut. “I don’t think so.”

“Shiro.”

“Yes, Princess?” The object of Keith’s scrutiny returned his attention to the woman before him.

“Shiro,” repeated Keith in experiment.

“Yes, princess?” said Shiro, turning back around. Keith now had two important pieces of information: Shiro’s name, and the unnerving confirmation that he was definitely being flirted with.

The Princess was tapping her foot. “Did you not tell them why they’re in my home?”

“Not yet,” Shiro admitted, drumming his fingers against the helmet in his hands. He was about to say something else, turning back to Keith and a still-unfocused Lance, but Hunk appeared just then, rounding the far corner with an empty water glass in hand.

“Oh, hey,” he said. “You guys are finally here.”

“Hunk, yes.” Lance snapped out of his trance, loping over to cling to Hunk’s enormous frame. “I wanna hear it from you, buddy. What’s going on?”

Hunk blinked. “Oh, uh, well…” He shifted the glass to his non-dominant hand to gesture as he talked. “That’s Shiro, he’s pretty cool, had me picked up. Had to leave the car, though, hope I don’t get a ticket. That’s Allura over there, she’s super rich so this is her apartment I guess. It’s a nice place but the snacks could be better. Oh, Keith, jeez you look terrible. Heard you got fired, man, sorry to hear that—”

“It’s whatever,” heaved Keith, grinding his heel into the white carpet. He did not need everyone to remind him that he looked the way he felt.

“Yeah, but actually we’re here cause Allura has work for us. So maybe that’s not so bad, huh?”

Lance took pause at that. “What kind of work?”

“The same kind you were just doing,” Allura announced, hands on her hips. Keith finally noticed the accent in her voice. “I want you to rob for me. But this time I want don’t you to get caught.”

A hell of a proposition. Lance was of the same mind. “Why would we agree to that?”

“Because I’ll pay you to do it.” Oh. Money. Still, Keith wasn’t in the business of signing blood contracts with alien women. Allura stepped away from Shiro, pushing the swath of her hair over her shoulder as she approached. “I would do it myself, but it’s not a one-woman job.”

“You don’t know us,” Keith pointed out. “Why you would ask us to do this for you?”

Allura’s crystal earrings clinked as she tossed her head. “Shiro suggested it, and I trust him.”

Keith backed toward Hunk and Lance, keeping his steps even. “And what does Shiro do?”

“The same thing you do,” Shiro supplied. His eyes had been boring into Keith since Hunk entered the room. “We’ll be together on every job.”

Lance looked from Hunk to Keith. “We don’t know them either.”

“Well the thing is,” Hunk said, clearing his throat, “that I called Pidge before you got here, and she actually does know them. Shiro, at least.”

“Of course she does,” muttered Lance.

“We can talk about the details tomorrow since it’s already this late,” Allura offered. Her tone was steely and her jaw was set to match. “But I need a response.” Keith waited, but Lance said nothing. Both he and Hunk were looking at him when Keith glanced over. Keith wasn’t aware he’d become the ringleader of this circus, but it wasn’t an unwelcome role if it meant he could hurry this up and get home to his bed. That was it, then.

“I don’t mind breaking the law for profit,” he said. “Guess that means we’re in.”

Allura didn’t finish her nod before she disappeared down the same hallway from which Hunk had come. “See you tomorrow.”

“She’s tired,” Shiro exhaled, hinting at an apology. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride.” Keith headed for the elevator as Shiro started peeling off his ridged jacket, hearing Lance’s footsteps at his heels as he opened one of the heavy doors.

“Can you drop me at the car instead?” Hunk was saying as Keith called the elevator. “You know, if it hasn’t been towed already.”

“Sure.” Shiro was too close. Keith squeezed away from him as soon as the elevator doors cracked open, maneuvering himself behind Hunk, trying to use him as a shield. No matter. Shiro gently guided Hunk to the side, stepping in next to Keith to request their floor. There was a flash of metal as Shiro pushed the button for the garage. Keith’s eyes went searching unbidden: there, on Shiro’s opposite side—he was missing a hand. The replacement was sleek and silvery, conforming to the curve of his arm and extending up over the thick contour of his bicep. Shiro shifted absently as Keith watched, reaching over to twist a gunmetal ring on the middle finger of his other hand that Keith could see now that the gloves he’d been wearing were off.

Keith pointed his face away and tried not to look, but that became increasingly difficult after Lance and Hunk took up the back seat, forcing Keith into the front, and harder again once the distraction of their conversation was gone and there was little else to occupy Keith’s attention but that strange silver hand, to say nothing of the man attached to it.

“Here,” Keith said as they neared the apartment, resisting the urge to hop out while the car was in motion. Alarm bells rang out in his head when the car shifted into park and Shiro slid out after him. Keith stopped under the harsh blue glare of the area’s one streetlight, muscles coiling as Shiro’s dark form loomed toward him, a stark contrast against the first pink rays of the dawn. Shiro’s stance was loose when he came to a halt a few feet away, white hair shining like gossamer under the brightest part of the light. He looked distracted. Keith had no reason to be this tense.

“I… ah.” Shiro seemed to remember himself after a moment. “I probably shouldn’t have gotten out of the car.”

Keith didn’t bother responding, opting instead to wait for Shiro to make his way back to the curb, but when he finally moved, it was toward Keith instead. Keith couldn’t bring himself to run away, not even when Shiro showed no signs of stopping, not even when they were close enough to share breath. Shiro gingerly raised his left hand, fingers hovering in the air. Keith saw the shadow they cast on his cheek and knew that Shiro was gazing at the dark circles rimming his eyes.

The nervous scratch in Shiro’s voice was at odds with the sure way he stepped into the attenuated space between Keith’s feet. “Sorry, but,” he said, inches from Keith’s face, “you’re stunning,” and he might have been a summer storm descending on a valley, the way he swallowed Keith’s field of vision.

Well. Keith couldn’t be sure, whether Shiro was coming at him to kiss him or _what,_ but—the tingling in his extremities was careening higher—his legs were failing him—and the vicious battle he’d been waging against a dogged hard-on was suddenly all but fucking squandered. There was nothing to him now but irrational, commanding flame.

But Keith was more than just a slave to his body.

Fists balled before he knew it and Keith hurled his knuckles into the side of Shiro’s face, driving the blow as hard as he possibly could. Shiro was forced back, hand flying to his cheek as Keith stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet and loudly toppling the metal trash can behind him. Shiro spilled forward again, ostensibly to catch Keith before he fell, but Keith already had his bearings back, and Shiro wasn’t on the approach anymore, because Keith had one hand wadded in his sweater and the other at his neck, pushing the flat of his switchblade against the smooth skin. Shiro lowered both hands; the silver one at his reddening cheek, and the one still fruitlessly splayed in the empty air where Keith used to be.

“Don’t,” Keith panted. “Don’t touch me.” Even with a knife to the man’s throat, Keith couldn’t bring himself to meet Shiro’s eyes. It took some time for him to realize that Shiro wasn’t trying to pull away.

“I won’t. But, you should know.” Pressure on the blade. Shiro was leaning in. “One day you’re going to love me. And then you’ll hate me, a little bit. But you’ll still love me.” He was going to cut himself. “Just let me know when that day is.”

It was the shock that did it, that let Keith look directly at Shiro, who was _smiling_ of all things, chin nearly resting on the blunt edge of the knife. He wouldn’t be threatened by Keith or his weapon, not at all, and something in the sincere slant of his eyebrows clearly expressed that Shiro had only _let_ Keith hit him earlier, was only _letting_ Keith threaten him now. If this had been anyone else at the punishing end of his blade, he’d have assumed he was being underestimated, or perhaps written it off as insanity, but this wasn’t that. Shiro’s smile was too small, his tone too soft, stance too easy to read and all too human. _Astonishment_. _The joy of discovery._ _The instinct to get a closer look_. Shiro was looking at him as if he were unearthing a missing link, and Keith was feeling naked as the day he was born.

Naked. Frantic, even.

Keith shunted Shiro to arm’s length, jostling him backward without regard for the knife and ramming him against the hull of the car. “Don’t _touch me_ ,” he snarled, ill-equipped in a frontier of rage. “Don’t _come near_ me. Don’t _speak_ to me if we’re not on a job.” Shiro glanced down as Keith gave the hilt a violent twist. “ _Fucker!_ Do you understand?!”

“Yes,” replied Shiro, voice husky. His smile had since retreated. “I understand.”

Keith shoved off and stalked up the stairs to the dimly lit entrance of the apartment. Pidge flew out before he could fling it open, smacking him out of the way and running down the corridor. Keith went on inside to sulk, flagging down on the sofa to see her jump Shiro through the window, then rolling over so he couldn’t see him effortlessly toss her around like a stuffed toy.

He made it over the hill of his irritation and was almost asleep by the time Pidge came back. She flopped down on his legs and nicked off his hat to smack him with it.

“Hey, Texas,” she said. “Can you not pull your little knife on my friends?” Keith groaned into the cushion.

“I don’t. Want. To talk about it.”

Pidge smacked him again, dispersing the illusion that he had a choice in the matter. “Shiro wants to know if you’re single.”

“Tell him I’m dating Lance so he thinks I have bad taste,” snapped Keith, catching her wrist before she could get another whack in. Pidge giggled.

“Look at you. He’s gonna get it in like the NBA.” She wrestled her arm free to mime a slam dunk. “Nothing but net.”

“Pidge!” Keith sat up to escape, but Pidge only settled down heavier on his knees. He struggled. “You don’t even—know if I—like men!”

“If you didn’t like men you would have said ‘I don’t like men’ instead of ‘you don’t even know if I like men,’ which just confirms my suspicion,” Pidge stated. “Come on, Keith, I’ve known you were gay since I saw your go-go boots. I thought you’d be a little more excited about this.”

“I hate him,” Keith retorted. “So I’m not excited at all.”

“ _I hate him_ ,” Pidge mocked in an unflattering impression of Keith’s voice. “You’re an idiot. You could figure out where you met him if you paid any attention.” Keith snatched his hat back and covered his face with it so he didn’t have to look at her. Of fucking course he told her. And she wasn’t going to tell him, either.

“How do _you_ even know him?”

Pidge’s grin diminished a bit. “He used to be at the aeronautics institute with my brother and my dad. He knows something about what happened to them.”

“I thought,” Keith started, peeking out from behind his beanie. “I thought that you thought they were dead.” Pidge swallowed, sitting back. Her heels were digging into Keith’s shins, but he’d allow it for now.

“I do. At least that’s what Shiro said. Then he said he’d try to do something about it, and next I heard they were hauling him off to prison. He wasn’t supposed to get out, so I—didn’t believe him, when he said he would.” She looked out the window at the space the car had been. “I didn’t know he was back.”

“…Sorry.” Keith pushed himself back up, letting the silence hang for a moment. “I won’t ask again.”

Pidge sniffed. “No, it’s okay.” She poked Keith in the forehead. “Ask away. I know there’s at least one more thing you’re dying to know.”

“Pidge.” Keith eyed her, disbelieving. “I’m not a moron. I know you’re a double agent.”

“I’m no turncoat,” Pidge reassured. “I won’t tell Shiro a thing. I told him that if he wanted to know something about you then he had to ask it himself. Client confidentiality, swear.”

Keith ran his tongue along the sharp ridge of his teeth. “All right. I want to know his name. His _real_ name.”

“Is that all? That’s easy,” Pidge said. “His name’s Takashi. Mr. Takashi Shirogane.”


	2. two of cups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my ass is grass but i'm updating

It was still bright outside when Keith woke, much to his surprise. He freed an arm from his nest-like tangle of blankets to rub the grit from his eyes and slapped at the band on his wrist until it displayed the time. 1:43 PM. A respectable hour.

Pidge's voice drifted from the direction of the living room as Keith rummaged through the pile of clothes on the carpet, finding a ratty pair of cotton basketball shorts to slide on under his too-big T-shirt. If she was here, then she probably cooked. There could be food, out there. Keith's stomach growled. Vision still blurry, he opened his door to find the shadowed profile of Shiro’s face on the other side.

Keith threw a punch on pure reflex. He was pretty surprised at the speed of it, actually, once he'd realized what he'd done. Shiro caught his fist like a baseball, looking a shade less than impressed. His breath smelled like grape candy.

“I am so not in the mood for this,” he muttered, tossing Keith’s arm aside and continuing on down the hall. Keith watched from behind his doorsill, waiting until Shiro’s cerulean henley disappeared into the bathroom to dart out into the kitchen. Pidge was in front of the TV again, doing her online coursework. She hadn't cooked at all. Damn it.

“You're up early, Sleeping Beauty,” she said, letting her head drop backward to peer at Keith upside down. “Welcome back to the land of the living. Why the sour face?”

“You let that man in our home,” Keith spat, stalking to the fridge. “And you didn't even cook.”

Pidge righted herself and turned back to the computer. “I'm not your maid. Make a frozen pizza if you want to eat.”

“That's what I'm doing.” He yanked open the freezer. “What is he doing here anyway?!”

“Shiro’s here to take us back to…wherever you went yesterday. Put a pizza in for me.” Pidge straightened her legs, leaning forward in a stretch. “Fair warning? He might be less of a morning person than you are, so don't fuck with him. I already know you can't take him.”

“What do you mean, ‘morning person’? It's almost two.”

“It's morning whatever time you wake up,” replied Pidge. “And from the looks of it I don’t think Shiro’s been up any more than twenty minutes, so this should be fun.”

“What should be fun?” Shiro was breezing back into the kitchen, face and bangs dripping with water. He was using a fistful of his shirt as a towel, hem pulled way up to expose the solid planes of his stomach and the thick trail of dark hair that disappeared under his waistband. Keith haughtily turned his back as he passed. “Are you talking about me?”

“No,” said Pidge, scooting over to make room for him on the couch. “I was just letting Keith know that he doesn't appreciate me nearly enough. How I warned you not to wake him if you valued your life.”

Shiro slumped down next to her with a sigh. “I wouldn’t want to wake him in the first place.” Keith felt a small swell of satisfaction that Shiro had declined to address him directly. Pidge would not be so easily deterred.

“You look tired. Want some coffee?”

“No,” Shiro said, sinking into the arm of the couch and closing his eyes for a nap. “Your coffee probably tastes like sewage.” Keith could see the metal buds of an electronic visor hooked behind his ears as he turned his face into the pillow.

Pidge nudged him. “What about Keith's coffee?”

Shiro just groaned. Pidge’s eyes were on Keith then, questioning? Accusing. Keith slid behind the couch a few minutes later with her pizza, holding it just out of reach above her head. Big mistake. Her arm shot out toward his crotch. Keith dropped her prize before the blow could connect.

“What,” he said, taking a bite of his own pie when she didn’t let up on the dirty glare. No answer. “What?!”

“Nothing. Go put some real clothes on.” Pidge put a slice of pizza in Shiro’s open hand. “It’s you we’re waiting for.”

Keith eagerly retreated to his room to finish his meal. He thrust a greasy hand into the heap on his floor to find some ‘real clothes.’ Everything was dirty. He really needed to wash.

“What’s taking so long?” Pidge wanted to know, opening his door.

Keith shoved the rest of the pizza into his mouth and wiped his hands on a stained pair of jeans. “Nothing’s clean.”

“Why do you have to be so nasty?” Pidge vexed, letting Keith follow her into her room and opening a drawer to toss her slouchiest clothes at him. “Shiro probably caught a whiff of your room earlier and lost interest.”

“Good.” He gave the waistband of her sweatpants an experimental tug. “Do you mind?”

“I’ve seen your bare ass, it’s nothing to write home about,” was all Pidge said. “If you want privacy then go to your own room.” Keith didn’t much fancy running into a certain man in the hallway again, so he pulled off his shirt and started changing in front of her. “You know, I’m starting to think you like wearing my clothes. You still have a pair of my shorts squirreled away in that mess.”

Her clothes were tight, but manageable. Lucky for him Pidge dressed like a tomboy and most of her clothes fit baggy on her already. Keith cuffed the pants to his knees so Lance wouldn’t harp on about his highwaters. “I see you’re under the impression that those shorts are still yours.”

Pidge plucked at the warped green lettering stretched over his chest. “You’re buying me new ones after this.”

“Fair,” Keith agreed. “Let me find my wallet.” She left him there in her room, presumably to wake Shiro. It took Keith a few minutes to locate his wallet, it being in the pocket of the jeans he used as a napkin earlier. Pidge was waiting with a fresher-looking Shiro when he finally made it back out. Keith’s sadistic streak had him feeling significantly petty, looking forward to the next time he’d catch Shiro’s eye in hopes for another chance at a snub, but Shiro didn't acknowledge him again, violet sun visor flickering to life over his eyes as he followed Pidge out of the apartment without so much as a breath in Keith's direction. Untouchable. He was already loading Pidge into the passenger seat of a simple black hovercar by the time Keith locked the door and made it down to the first level. Keith gingerly lowered himself into the backseat, feeling a lot more deflated than he had any right to be.

“This isn't the car you had last night,” observed Pidge as they lifted off. Shiro’s driving was rather subdued compared to the dramatic escape they pulled off the previous night.

“No,” he confirmed. “This car is mine.”

“And the other one wasn't?” Keith asked, before he could stop himself. Shiro simply rolled the driver’s side window down a crack and leaned over, feeding the wind through his short hair. That was maybe a no. Or maybe a yes, or maybe nothing at all. Fine. He didn’t care, anyway.

It wasn't as if Keith had forgotten all of his own, reactive words, but. He admittedly wouldn't have felt the need to warn Shiro off so harshly if he'd thought for a single minute that the man would obey everything he said down to the letter. On top of that, this somehow seemed excessive. Shiro’s cool gaze had passed through him like glass. The situational roundabout was enough to give Keith whiplash. A cold shoulder would be one thing, and Keith couldn't put his finger on it per se, but it was almost as if he were being… ignored.

The thought alone was rage-inducing. Equally infuriating was having Shiro occupy even a single one of his thoughts. Keith tried to shove that sentiment aside, watching the traffic flit by and the world turn on its side as they made the ascent up the steel-build high-rise that contained Allura’s apartment.

And then. Keith's suspicions were confirmed as the three of them walked inside to find Hunk and Lance there already: Shiro greeted them with a warm smile, calling each by name, earlier grogginess all but a memory. He beckoned Pidge over to sit and Keith was left standing alone by the door, too prideful to follow her immediately and too stubborn to call him out. Shiro—that man!—was still smiling, and it was a genuine smile, one that never faltered, one with staying power, mocking Keith even behind the broad expanse of his back, and ah, what was this feeling? Oh yes. It had been a while.

Loathing. Keith loathed him, Shiro, who knew exactly what he was doing and how to execute it. He was still there by the door when Allura entered from the far hallway a short while later.

“Oh,” she said with a smirk as she closed in on him. Keith avoided eye contact, looking instead at the gauzy folds of her flowing dress, a thin apricot that deepened into peach in the creases. “You're in a much worse mood than you were last night.”

“And you're in a better one,” Keith muttered, taking a step back. Allura only followed him.

“Yes, well, I got some rest.” Her face loomed large, expression inquisitive. “I would ask why you look so sullen, but in reality I already know. And I'm afraid you'll just have to bear with it until the feeling passes. I have work for you to do.”

Keith was too surprised to be upset with her invading his personal space. “What do you mean, you ‘already know’?”

“Allura,” that damn man called from the sitting area. She gave Keith a well-meaning wink and walked away, leaving him by his lonesome once again. Later, then. Keith entered the fray once he was ready, claiming the small amount of couch space left between Hunk and the arm of the chair, Shiro now strategically out of sight at Hunk’s other side. Allura took her place in a white armchair next to him once she and Pidge had exchanged introductions, crossing her ankles with a sigh and setting her back ramrod straight. She looked like an empress.

“So,” she began, steepling her fingers. “We’re here to discuss the dynamics of your first job now that you're working for me. Are there any questions before we delve into the particulars, or…?”

“Yeah, one.” Pidge’s mouth twisted in diffidence. “Why am I here? And, you don’t exactly seem hard up for cash, so why any stealing in the first place?”

Allura shifted, though not uncomfortably. “It’s not as if it hurts to have another woman involved, but we’ll need you to help with monitoring and planning for the smaller projects in particular. For the larger ones, you and I will both have to go in and help out with the heavy lifting.” She paused a moment, then nodded. “We’ll get to my exact motivations, but I’ll tell you now that this isn’t a monetary matter. You’ll come to understand when you hear what exactly I want to take.”

Lance craned around Pidge to get a clear view of her. “One more question. Did it hurt when you fell from the heavens?”

Allura sounded like a downed wildebeest. “Lance, please.” He had obviously been at this since arriving earlier. Keith expected nothing less.

Hunk cleared his throat. “All right, I know we would get to this eventually, but what do you want to take, exactly?”

“I’m glad you asked,” replied Allura, beaming him a bright smile. “There’s a certain corporation whose headquarters is located in this city. Sono Enterprises. Have you heard of it?”

“Yeah,” answered Hunk. “That’s an alien syndicate. They engineer new tech and sell the usage rights to Earth-based companies.”

“Yes and no.” Allura started winding her long hair up into a lustrous bun. “They do sell the rights to it, but the tech isn’t new, or at least not the tech they’re selling. The work they are doing is reverse-engineering, on technology belonging to my people that I don’t have the means to manufacture myself.”

Keith took another look around the open-concept living space, and at Allura herself. There was a sleek white gadget on the far counter and a similarly-designed band around her wrist that looked like an upgraded version of the communicator he and others wore. He hadn’t seen these models in the shopping district, come to think of it, and the white car Shiro had been driving yesterday—Keith had assumed it was a brand-new model he wasn’t yet familiar with, but the controls were reminiscent of a space pod rather than any car manufactured on Earth, right down to the steering mechanism. He snapped the elastic hair tie around his thumb. “If that were true, wouldn’t we have heard of some sort of dispute? It can’t be that easy to misappropriate massive amounts of tech.”

Allura bit the inside of her cheek. “I haven’t been home for some time now, but my people are...not populous. Not since the war.”

“Ah,” was all Keith could say. He really knew nothing at all.

“In any case,” Allura continued, “Sono is a pseudonym, and the corporation has more than a few locations that front as businesses or otherwise where they perform experimentation or keep work that would be inconvenient on-record. You stepped into one such place last night.”

Lance leaned over Pidge again. “What was in the safe that needed such heavy protection anyway?”

“A store of a certain type of lens,” Allura responded, “that are needed to operate the part of my ship that opens wormholes for intergalactic travel.”

“Holy crap,” whispered Hunk to Keith.

Lance’s curiosity wasn’t sated with just that. “Okay, but how were you going to get into that monster?”

“I wasn’t,” Allura shrugged dismissively. “Shiro was.”

“Let’s move on to the details of our next job,” Shiro gently prodded. He’d barely said a word, and yet—that molten quality to his voice. Keith could just strangle him.

“Yes, let’s,” agreed Allura with a clap of her hands. A blue holographic map of the city rose over the coffee table between them. “The lenses have already all been moved, thanks to your little stunt, but I’ve planned for Shiro to do some simple reconnaissance that should be nice practice for you all as a team.”

“Holy crap,” Hunk repeated as the map’s zoom and orientation adjusted itself in response to Allura’s minimal gestures. The display rotated and a flagged address appeared, indicating a short building on the outskirts of the trading district.

Allura’s voice was confident. “All you’ll need to do is take a small drive, nothing difficult. The drive has information that we’ll need for something else. I’ll tell you about that later.” She rose and headed to the back of the apartment, raising her voice to be heard down the hallway. “As for risk, security is minimal, but just in case, we do have one plasma blaster—”

“Who gets the gun?!” Lance yelled. “Can I have it?!”

“No.” Pidge shook her head. “No way.”

“I don’t know, I think Keith should get the gun,” Hunk said, hesitantly.

Keith glared at him. “Pidge should get it. I’m not the one that needs a gun if someone comes for me.”

“Mm.” Shiro raised his metal hand to receive the streamlined weapon as Allura returned, holding it out by the muzzle. “Lance gets the gun.” He yanked his hand back with a tight smile as Lance lunged for it. “But not today.”

“We’re fucked,” Pidge cried. “Why would you give it to him?!”

“Because he wanted it the most,” Shiro stated. “Sometimes that’s a good indicator. I have another, standard gun, anyway, so it's not as if our lives are entirely in his hands.”

Lance aimed his finger guns at Keith’s frown. “Locked and loaded, baby. Just call me Sharpshooter.”

“The only thing you're good at shooting is money shots,” Keith barked.

Lance popped his guns with a pap-pap. “And you know that from personal experience?” Hunk had to bodily restrain Keith at that one.

“If you're all quite finished,” interrupted Allura, reassuming her seat. “We need to talk about communication. You’ve seen the helmet Shiro has, yes?” Pidge shrugged. “All right. Well, you'll each receive a similar one. The helmet has multiple functions: it will hide your face, allow me to track your location, and keep us all in constant contact.” She paused a moment. “The network is secure, but even so it's best to use anonyms, just in case.”

“You’re talking about code names,” Hunk excitedly broke in. “Do we get to choose? That'd be so—”

“Afraid not,” said Allura, keeping her tone delicate. “Better to keep it simple. Pidge, you're Green. Lance, Blue. Hunk, you’ll be Yellow. Keith—Red. Shiro is Black. When we’re using the network, you can refer to me as White. I know it's a bit of a formality, but try to keep it up if only for the sake of caution. I’ll get back to you with a specific date and time once it’s been decided.”

Pidge floated a hand through the map still projected before her. “This is limited to the six of us in this room, right? There's no one else?”

“One other person,” Allura admitted. “My keeper, Coran. He's off-planet on an errand for me at present, but you'll meet him once he returns.”

Pidge closed her fist around a tiny blue traffic light. “Ah.”

“Any other pressing questions?” Allura swiveled her head. “Good. And now that we’re finished,”—she aimed a pointed slipper into Shiro’s kneecap—“we have lunch plans that were supposed to be brunch plans, if someone hadn't fallen straight back to sleep after answering his phone this morning.” Shiro shrank back as she tried to kick him again. Suddenly he wasn’t so dignified and she wasn't so regal.

“Ow!” He grabbed her stocking-clad ankle at the third kick. “Allura! I was tired, what do you even want?!”

“Food,” she decreed, jerking her leg back. “I'm starving.”

Keith felt rather than saw Shiro make another grab for her over the arm of the couch. “If you would just buy groceries like I tell you then you wouldn’t have this problem. And didn’t I bring you food yesterday? What happened to that? Did you eat it?”

“Yes,” Allura sniffed. “I eat more than you think. My metabolism is quite fast. A little Earthling man like you couldn’t possibly understand.”

“I’d like to add a complaint about Earthling men to the pot, if that’s all right,” Pidge piped up. “Keith refuses to do his disgusting laundry. He keeps boobing out all of my shirts and I think it’s high time somebody other than me shamed him for it.”

“Pidge,” hissed Keith.

Hunk peered down at Keith. “I thought it was just some kind of fashion statement, but actually, yeah. That is Pidge’s shirt.”

“What’s going on, Keith?” Lance chuckled. “I see you rolled up her pants thinking I wouldn’t notice. You going wading for clams or starfish this time?” Wow, what a perfect time to make an exit.

“Bye,” Keith said, beelining for the door.

Pidge flipped around, pushing Lance out of her line of sight. “Really, Keith? How are you even gonna get home?”

“Taxi,” Keith tersely replied. “And I'm not going home. I'm doing your shopping first. You know how to reach me.”

“Are you sure you want to leave?” inquired Allura, attention momentarily redirected. “Shiro’s going to buy us all lunch, isn’t that right, Shiro?”

“I,” was all the response that reached Keith's ears before the door was closing behind him and he was dashing for the elevator. There was a certain security in solitude—he was out here, and the others were still in there, the others were just about to start bonding, and Keith couldn't do that, not yet. He wasn't ready.

Pidge, Lance. Hunk. The three of them were the closest friends he’d ever known, but still, he needed time; time to keep even people he trusted at arm’s length, and to cultivate familiarity with people he didn't. Allura. Shiro. No. Not Shiro! Keith couldn't stomach Shiro in a literal sense, in a physical sense—that damn man, the bastard, the nerve of him to get so close—

Keith remembered the lurid glow of that streetlight as he pressed the recessed call button. He pushed it again, desperate for the lustrous doors to open as the memory of Shiro’s faint heat sank into his skin anew.

What. Was it? Was it his confidence that twisted Keith's gut-? Or was it Shiro’s self-assured ease that made him so nervous? Maybe it had been the invitation that Keith had seen in his grey eyes, the kind Keith had never been offered before. The one that had been revoked come this morning. Maybe what Keith really hated was this new, perverse emptiness now that it was gone. Keith’s body was rebelling again, the tickle of butterfly wings against the inside of his stomach sending shivers down to his fingertips as he transferred elevators to continue down. He clenched his fists, unclenched them. The fluttering ceased if he could just break the circuit, stop thinking so hard and fall back on the easy familiarity of his anger—whether misdirected or not. Yes. It was so much easier this way.

Away. Shiro needed to stay away.

*

Keith had never noticed how language was such a funny thing. Insidious, rather.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know what he’d said. Don’t speak to me if we’re not on a job. That, and a few other choice words. Well, as luck would have it, Shiro didn’t have to speak to him at all. Not even for work.

Keith hadn’t the faintest idea what to expect turning up at the rendezvous point Friday night, crouched low on a nearby rooftop with Pidge and waiting for the others to make contact. He ran his thumb along the bottom ridge of the helmet Shiro had given her to then give him. “Are you sure this thing is on?”

“Yes,” sighed Pidge, fiddling with the reinforced case that contained her ‘work’ laptop. “Stop asking.”

That was a steep request when Keith knew nothing. He rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling a headache coming on. “Tell me what Allura said, again.”

“She said to wear black, which we did,” Pidge said, tugging at her dark sweatshirt, “and to meet here at two AM. It’s 1:55. They’ll be here soon enough.”

Keith pressed his fingertips hard against his skin. “...And what did Shiro say?”

“To wear that helmet and wait for instructions,” smiled Pidge. “So that’s what we’re doing.”

“I also said not to use names over this network,” came Shiro’s voice, crisp as paper. Keith grimaced. “Where are you two?”

Keith shifted out of the way for Pidge to peer over the ledge. “On the roof of the building facing the south wall. When did you get here?”

“Just a minute ago. Can you get in and disrupt the camera feeds? I want you to loop the footage from the last hour until we finish up in there. It’s a simple system, so it should also be easy to disable the alarm. How does that sound?”

Pidge snapped open her case, removing the little trapezoidal bot she’d programmed to function as a private server. It blinked to life, hovering by her shoulder as she booted her computer. Keith leaned over to watch her work and wait for his own directions. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Is White not coming?”

“No, she’s busy so it’s just us tonight.” Shiro exhaled, long and exasperated. “But it’s fine. I was originally going to do this myself anyway. Yellow, are you still in the alley where I left you?”

“Yeah, I’m still here,” Hunk answered. “You want me to move?”

“Yes, exactly. See if you can’t move the car a couple streets down in case a cop rolls by. We don’t want to draw attention to this place over some BS like a parking ticket. Try to get a spot where you can verify that any passing cars aren’t headed here.”

An engine hummed to life in the near distance. “Alright, I’m headed west.”

“Thanks. Blue’s mic is malfunctioning, but he’s coming with me so I don’t expect it to be an issue. The two of us are headed to the service door now. Keep us updated with anything suspicious you see on the outside. And Red…” Keith kept waiting through Shiro’s silence, thinking the mic had cut out. “Green, keep Red with you. We’ll break in as soon as you’ve got the feeds compromised. See you on the other side.”

Keith slammed the mute on his helmet, whirling to face Pidge. “WHAT.”

Pidge muted herself as well, eerie glow of her laptop a sheen on her round glasses as she worked. “Don’t look so outraged. You hate being told what to do anyway, isn't this better?”

“No,” Keith all but growled. “That's not even—he couldn't even say, ‘hey Keith, stay out of the way’? He had to tell you to do it? Are you my fucking handler or something?”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “You are so dramatic. Just hang out and watch my six, is that too much to ask?” She reactivated her mic. “Hey, you guys are good to go in.”

Hang out and watch her six. Whatever. Keith managed it for all of ten minutes, growing increasingly impatient with the quiet instruction Shiro directed at Lance and the feedback created as they moved through the bowels of the building. He stood up, prompting a reaction from Pidge, who was content with sitting there monitoring the camera feeds.

“Where are you going?” she demanded, muting herself again.

Keith shrugged as he lowered one leg over the roof’s ledge. “I'm gonna check on Hunk.”

“He's in the car, he doesn't need checking on,” Pidge tried, but Keith was already hopping down to the first story, using windowsills as footholds. His feet hit the ground flat and hard. Keith briefly pulled up his helmet’s visual interface to orient himself on the map before heading west toward the blinking yellow V that highlighted Hunk’s location.

Hunk wasn't displeased to see him, just surprised. “Uh—” Keith slashed at his throat and Hunk snapped his mouth shut.

“Uh what?” Shiro prompted through the comm, sounding anxious. “Are you alright?”

“Oh. Yeah. Nevermind. It's nothing.” Hunk killed his mic and directed his attention back to Keith. “No really, what are you doing here?”

Keith shrugged and climbed up into the passenger seat. It was warm in the car. “I got bored.”

“Whatever, bro. I got a sandwich in here, you want some?”

“Yeah,” Keith said, and received a generous half of Hunk’s ham melt. Ugh, yes.

Shiro’s mic was active again. “Hey, we’re done in here. Yellow, swing back around to the back to pick us up and then we’ll grab Green from the rooftop, all right?”

“Copy,” Hunk replied, pulling out onto the street.

“This is great,” praised Keith with his mouth full of food.

Pidge's voice suddenly crackled through. “Black,” she whispered. “Someone’s on the roof.”

“What?” Hunk’s hands tightened around the controls.

Shiro was unperturbed. “It’s all right. The building you're on is a sister facility to the one we’re in now. The sentry bots patrolling the place come up to the roof sometimes. It's a little too big for you to handle without a blaster, so just let Red take care of it.”

“But—”

“You don't understand,” Hunk protracted. “Red’s with me.”

Mr. Perfect evaporated like smoke as Shiro’s volume ratcheted up to a near shout. “What?!” Shit.

“He left a while ago,” Pidge explained, keeping her voice down. “His mic’s off.” Shit.

Lance’s voice filtered through Shiro’s feed. “Didn't I tell you he wouldn’t do what you wanted? You didn't believe me.” Shit.

“Red, turn your fucking mic on!” Shiro’s words bit into Keith like the sting of a whip. “Why would you leave her there?! You have instincts, so use them!” Hunk cringed as Keith silently switched his microphone on. Okay. So it was like that. Shiro wasn’t entirely opposed to directly addressing him after all, but Keith sure wouldn’t like it when he did. “Green, hide. Yellow, where are you? Closer to us or to her?”

Hunk’s eyes darted up to check his map. “I’m already at the back door. She's on the other side.”

“Hang on,” Shiro said, a moment before he and Lance appeared from behind the door. Keith dived into the back seat before Shiro opened the passenger door, then rolled out of the way when Lance hopped in, nearly on top of him. Shiro shoved the massive hard drive he was carrying under his knees and turned to Lance as Hunk hit the accelerator. “Roll the window down and blast the thing if you get a clear shot.”

“You got it,” Lance clucked, stabilizing his elbow on the lip of the window. “Where's she at?”

“She was still by the wall facing us when I left,” supplied Keith, trying to see around Lance’s shoulders. “You still there?”

Pidge answered after a few beats. “...No. I’m on the south edge now.”

“I see you,” Lance said. Keith angled his neck and there she was, hiding behind an exhaust port, and there it was, a seven-foot-tall sentry closing in on her as it made its rounds. Lance took it out with one shot. Damn. Keith would have to start giving him more credit.

Pidge threw her computer case at Keith's head when the door opened. He ducked and Lance caught it with a grin. “How’d you like that, chica?”

“Not too bad, chico.” She elbowed Keith until he was far enough over for her liking and pulled her helmet off. “Though I’d have liked it more without my neck on the line.”

Keith leaned forward over the computer serving as a wall between the two of them. “Pidge—sorry.” Another roll of her eyes was all he received for his efforts. Shiro had a fist to his bare forehead in the front seat. Keith could tell when he was in the doghouse, and this was it.

“Okay, so Lance is the MVP for our first mission,” Hunk mused, flipping the car around. Lance released a celebratory hoot. “Keith? Better luck next time, bud. On the bright side, we got the payload and nobody died. I say it’s a win.”

“Nobody was going to die in the first place,” Shiro sighed, after a few gentle nudges from Hunk.

“Is that a smile?” Lance gibbed, peering around the headrest. “I think that’s a smile.”

Shiro put his helmet back on to hide his face. “It’s… it’s not a smile.” But it was. The three of them were a lot more familiar than Keith remembered. Suspicious.

“Hunk,” Keith began. “Have you guys been hanging out without me?”

“Well.” Hunk sucked his lips in. “Yeah. Maybe. You always leave before we go out, I mean.”

Lance, in contrast, was devoid of shame. “Ha! You missed it, man, Shiro pulled the best trick on Pidge, her order came while she was in the bathroom and he hid it behind the menu for an hour—”

Pidge interrupted him to explain just why it wasn’t funny, that her food got cold, and then they must have all been in on some kind of joke from the way they were all laughing… Keith should have been glad that the attention had been shifted away from him, that the frigid air in the cab had dissipated, but all he was glad for was the fact that he had a race scheduled for the next night and that he’d have a chance to blow off all this inscrutable steam.

*

It took less than a day for Pidge to forgive him in the end. She was used to his bullshit, at this point. Still, Keith kept his head down and did as he was told on their next, equally simple assignment, and the next, and the one after that. He owed her that much. Shiro was the same as ever, but Keith could force himself to tolerate it, especially after the money started rolling in. And so two months passed, then three.

The wedge in his social circle wasn’t so easy to accept, considering how avoiding Shiro outside of work rapidly came to mean declining invitations to just about every function. Keith preferred his solitude to sticking his neck out and making plans without Shiro and facing the grim prospect of his deteriorating friendships; hard-won bonds that probably didn't mean as much to the others as they did to him.

And nevermind Allura. Keith hadn’t seen more than a glimpse of her since the start of winter, until he’d needed to return his helmet to her for maintenance—and even then, he hadn’t stayed longer than necessary for the exchange. He didn’t expect to see her again for an equally long period, but then he’d found one of her luminous violet earrings sitting pretty in his pocket later that night. How odd indeed.

It was late, but not too late, so off Keith went, taking a cab to her ludicrously tall building and making the long elevator journey to the top. Allura answered the intercom immediately. He let himself in with the passcode and found her standing expectantly in her kitchen, proudly swirling a wine glass full of blue liquid.

Keith came just close enough to speak at a normal volume and raised the ornament into view. “So, I found this in my pocket a while ago.”

“I know,” Allura grinned. “I put it there. I would have called if you didn't bring it back on your own.” The earring shot out of Keith’s fingers and came to a deliberate rest in the palm of her hand.

“Um,” he said, as she calmly reaffixed it to her pointed ear.

She beckoned with a finger. “Come on over. You never visit, so we haven't had any chances to talk.”

“Is that all this is?” Keith questioned, doubt creeping in.

“Cross my heart.”

He walked over after a moment’s hesitation. “You could have just asked.” Allura offered him the glass in her hand and he took it. It had probably been his from the start. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I want to talk about,” she mused, hopping up on the counter, “whatever you want to talk about.”

“All right,” said Keith. “Here's a question. Why am I just finding out you can move things with your mind?”

Allura shrugged. “You're absent, as I've said. Next.”

“Are those pink things on your face tattoos or are they part of your skin?”

“The latter,” answered Allura, hinting at impatience. “Don't you have anything of value to ask?”

Keith pretended to think for a moment, for propriety’s sake. “Shiro claimed we’ve met before. Is that true?”

“Of course it’s true,” Allura laughed. “What reason does he have to lie about that?”

“Fine. Where did we meet?”

“Oh, Keith,” she said with a wicked twist of her sculpted lips. “He’d kill me if I told you that. But it's a story he likes to tell. You might overhear him one day.”

Keith took a petulant sip of his drink that was spraying back out before he knew it. “Wh...What the hell is this? This is rancid!”

“You don't drink it because it tastes good,” replied Allura, pouring another glass. She was easy to talk to. Keith was even comfortable enough to relax a bit.

“What about you?” he redirected, not chancing another taste. “Didn't you have anything you wanted to ask me?”

Allura smirked at him again. “I already know a decent amount when it comes to you, Keith.”

“Oh?” Keith reacted, amused. “Like what?”

“I know your room is a mess.” Allura scanned him, head to toe. “I know you want to go to space. I know you're lonely but you kind of like the idea of the void. And I know you were bitten by a rattlesnake, when you were five.”

 “Yeah, sure,” Keith bit out, stomach churning, defenses up. “And now I'm gonna need you to tell me how the hell you know that. Now as in right now.”

Allura laughed again, light and airy. “There's no need to look so disturbed. I’ve done nothing sinister. I just know, Keith.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

“That’s precisely the answer,” countered Allura, sliding down from her perch to fetch a juice from the refrigerator. Keith frowned when she closed the distance between them but took the offered pouch nonetheless, glad to have something else to drink. Allura leaned heavy on the wall beside him. “I see you, and some things I just know. It’s not because I’m looking, granted that I could look if I wanted to. My mother could do it, too, though a little differently.” She slowly drained her glass. “She called it the ‘sight.’”

Keith absorbed that, stabbing the straw into his juice pouch. “Does that mean you’ve been ‘looking’ at me?”

“Only a little,” confessed Allura with an apologetic wince. “Not at anything you wouldn’t want me to see, of course. That would be... uncouth.”

“That'd be one word for it.” Keith fell back on the wall next to her, shifting his weight to one shoulder to shoot her a challenging glare. “And you don’t have me as figured out as you think.” Allura raised a curious brow. “I live with Pidge. I’m not lonely.”

“Oh, definitely. Not lonely at all.” Allura reduced her voice to a diabolical whisper. “The same way you definitely don't want to know Shiro any better, am I right?”

Keith gave a start, head spinning. “Wh—is he here?!”

Allura snickered. “He isn't in the room, no. He doesn't have an invisibility cloak. But he was around here somewhere, last I checked.”

“Well you're wrong on both fronts, then,” Keith derided, keeping the volume low. “I don’t want to know him any better. I don't want to know him at all. I can't stand him.” Allura was laughing at him again. Keith couldn't do a thing but harrumph and take an angry pull on his juice.

“Keith,” she said, once she'd gotten it out. “What people call love and hate. If you do a little digging, you’ll find they grow from the same root. You do know that, right?” Keith shot her a skeptical eye. She sighed again. “In any case, like I said before. You'll just have to bear with it until it passes. I'll never let you do anything important like have a weapon if you have half a mind to shoot him and claim friendly fire.”

“You?!” Keith was floored, and not just because she knew about that. “It’s you? You have me benched?!”

Allura just smiled, gliding away to put her glass in the sink. “Why don't you stay here tonight? The couch is a convertible, you can take that. I'd love some new breakfast company.”

“Oh, uh.” Keith grappled with the sudden request. “Okay.”

“Wonderful.” She tapped his nose on the way out of the kitchen. Keith suspected he’d have to get used to this kind of physicality. “The bathroom’s down the hall on the right. I'll be up for another few minutes. You know. Just in case you want to have a heart-to-heart.”

“No,” said Keith, ignoring her salacious wink. “I think I'm good.”

“Night, then,” she lilted, wandering off around the corner. Keith moved around the corner to watch her go, waiting until the last strand of her cloud-white hair disappeared into what was evidently her bedroom before he dared to explore his surroundings.

First was the bathroom, easy enough to find. Next to that was a second bedroom, this one full of trinkets. Hm. Moving on. The last room down the hall was scattered with exercise equipment. Keith wondered if Allura'd let him use it, if he asked politely. No sign of Shiro, though. Unless.

Keith scrutinized Allura’s bedroom door. No. No, he couldn't be in there. Keith would have overheard the two of them talking after Allura went in. He ambled back into the living room to finish off the last of his juice and considered the balcony. The windows in the sitting area were floor length, but the terrace extended past the wall around the building. Keith hadn't thought to check there at first because it was relatively cold outside despite it being a clear night.

He didn't really have to check. Keith didn't have a solid reason to be searching for Shiro in the first place. Then again, he would be sleeping in the living room. If Shiro was out there, Keith would like to know that now, and not later, when Shiro had to use that door to come back inside. That was how he’d rationalize it, at least.

Keith was outside, then, rounding the corner, and there was Shiro as anticipated. He was on the ground without a jacket, back against the wall and one leg flung out toward the edge. Keith was barely a meter from him, but if Shiro knew he was there he didn't make it known.

A minute passed. Keith was getting antsy. “...Hey.” Shiro didn't move. “Are you coming inside?” Nothing. “Shiro-!”

Shiro heaved a defeated sigh out toward the skyline. “You're breaking your own rules, Red.”

“Just... forget about all that,” Keith muttered, mostly to his feet. He had been expecting Shiro to smile, look at least a little pleased or smug, but he didn't smile, not at all.

He didn't even turn away from the view.

“You sure?”

“Yes.” It nearly turned into a whine, Keith was that exasperated. Or maybe Shiro just had that effect.

“Okay.”

Keith couldn't be satisfied with a response like that. He was loath to admit it, but at this point he needed Shiro to turn away from the city lights and give him the time of day, needed his acknowledgment any way he could get. After three months, it was manifesting as an ache.

Keith sidestepped over and slid down the wall, let himself fall into a squat next to Shiro, and finally he was close enough to see that what he’d assumed was a slim cigarette in Shiro’s mouth was really the stem of a lollipop.  Even in the dark, Keith could see it was stained bright red.

“You aren't finished,” observed Shiro, scratching the back of his neck.

“I told you not to do a few things,” Keith grumbled. “But I didn't say you couldn’t look at me.” Shiro rolled his right shoulder, the one on Keith’s side.

“Yeah. I know.” His shoulder settled with a small crack. “It's less for your sake than for mine. You're a bit of a live wire. I don't know what I might do to set you off.”

Keith had to scoff at that. “And why should a look from you set me off?”

“Because you don't like me,” replied Shiro, and there was a thick chord of something resonating in that, a rueful thrum of something severe that shook Keith’s resolve free of its roots.

Keith tangled his fingers into the thick mess of his hair, pushed it all back, away from his face. “It's not… I don't not like you, Shiro, it's just—”

“Don't try to lie to me, Keith.” His voice was nothing but sincere, entirely too gentle for this type of conversation. It would be easier if he was yelling. “I've heard you say it before.”

“What?” Keith felt himself frown. “When?”

Shiro pulled the lollipop from his mouth to twirl it between his fingers. “Your mic’s not always off when you think it is.” Realization. Shame.

“I-!” Keith yanked a hand from his hair in a pleading gesture that Shiro couldn't see. “What do you expect, Shiro? You tried to kiss me, didn’t you?!”

There was a thunderclap, then—wait. Not thunder, though it might as well have been. Laughter. Shiro was laughing, and hard. Keith crossed his arms and sat back, indignant. Shiro wiped the ghost of a tear from his eye. “Keith. What?” He turned around, finally, sending Keith reeling backward into the wall with the silent force of his gaze. “I didn't try to kiss you. I barely know you.” The top ridge of his teeth skimmed his lip for a moment. “You had an eyelash.” The lollipop tapped twice at the apple of Shiro’s cheek. “Right here.”

Keith was suffocating. “Well, you—you shouldn’t have tried to get it!”

“Yeah.” said Shiro. “Clearly.”

Still, though. “You said,” Keith strained with no small amount of effort, “you said you were in love with me.”

“Oh, no,” Shiro chuckled, resting his face on the heel of his hand. The scar across his nose was gleaming silver in the moonlight. “I'm the only one who lives in this body, and I know for sure I didn't tell you that.”

Keith didn't know what was truth anymore. Maybe the lack of oxygen to his brain had something to do with that. He needed to confirm. “What. Did you say, then?”

“It doesn't matter at this point.” Shiro turned back to the night view before them. “If you don't remember, then I know it must not have been important.” There it was again. A chink in the stone, in the wry set of Shiro’s mouth as he took the candy back in. Keith was starting to think that all of Shiro’s faults, the perceived arrogance and presumptuous demeanor, everything that he had assumed and everything that turned him off—he was starting to think it had all been his imagination, maybe. Shiro straightened his other leg and Keith found himself leaning into the newly vacated space between them.

“Shiro,” he said, quiet. “Can I ask you something?”

Shiro blew another fog of cherry-scented breath at the horizon, watched it evaporate in the night air. “You can ask me anything anytime you want.”

Keith watched it disappear, too. “Do I make you sad?”

“Sometimes,” Shiro answered, with a dispassionate nod of his head. Keith didn't ask why. It wasn't as if he could do anything about it, if he knew; if he could guess the reason. Shiro let the distant sounds of traffic fill the silence for a while before speaking again. “Hey. I'll tell you a one-sentence story.” He pointed a burnished metal finger at a patch of lights a short distance away with a small whirr. “That stretch over there? The one between 53rd and 9th? That's where I had my heart broken for the first time.”

“I know that place,” Keith mused, pulling his knees to his chest. “That's where they hold a lot of street races. I've done a few over there, in the past.”

“Mm.” Shiro pulled the stick from his mouth again, without the candy this time. He rolled what was left of it around with his jaw. “I heard you guys get up to some crazy speeds. It's dangerous, if you’re faster than your own reflexes.”

“I had an accident over on that stretch, once.” Keith said it without forethought, but Shiro’s attention was on him from the corner of his eye, so he didn't have much choice but to continue. “A truck pulled out in front of me when I was doing about 350. Didn't even have a helmet on. Everyone came running, including the guy I was racing. Reckon I should've died.”

Shiro pushed himself back to speak to Keith instead of the urban sprawl. “I heard Allura say a rattlesnake bit you a while ago. Sounds like you should've died a few times by now.”

“It got me three times, actually,” Keith tossed out, rubbing some warmth into his hands. “My dad tried to kill it and it bit him too, before it got away. I didn't die, but he did. Funny, right?”

“No,” murmured Shiro. “It doesn't sound funny at all.”

Keith held onto that for a bit before turning to him again. Shiro looked tired, and he probably shouldn't put it out there, but. “One more thing.”

“Sure.”

He pointed, loosely. “How'd you lose your hand?”

“Oh.” Shiro blinked and met Keith’s eyes again. It was warm, that grey. “It was a punishment.”

“For what?” Keith scoffed. “What did you do, kill somebody?” Shiro just arched an eyebrow at him. Keith felt his face fall. “Oh, hell. You did.”

“Yeah,” Shiro agreed. “I did.”

Keith glanced back down. “Then—how’d you get this one? The new one, I mean.”

“A reward in the same vein.” Another whirr as the synthetic fingers languidly flexed. “For killing somebody else.”

Keith wanted to touch those fingers, see if they were warm. When on earth did that happen? Wouldn’t Keith have noticed a feeling like that, if it had always been there?

…Allura was probably smiling in her sleep.

Keith tightened his own fingers into fists so his hands wouldn't get any funny ideas. “That's two people down, at least.”

“That’s right.” Shiro’s eyes danced away. “But, hey. I don't have plans to kill anyone else.” Keith bent over out of the way as he pulled his knees in and rose like the tide to his feet. His left hand came up as if to squeeze Keith’s shoulder, but the long fingers wound closed around empty air, plunging back down just the same as Keith’s meager hopes that he would be brazen enough to do it.

“It’s a little cold,” Shiro said, finally. “I’m going on inside.”

Keith stayed outside a little longer, though, searching the light-polluted sky for planets or shooting stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Make up your mind, and I promise you:_  
>  _I will treat you well, my sweet angel, so help me Jesus_  
>   
>  Hit me up on the tumb @marinoxx or marinoxxycontin~


	3. spring awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise, bitch. thought u'd seen the last of me? lmao i'm just joshin'

The convertible was more like a roll-out futon that happened to be extremely comfortable. Worth more than that in Keith’s opinion was the fact that the sheets smelled _good_. He’d made that discovery soon after cocooning himself in the thick blanket stored under the sofa and falling headfirst into the pillow. Keith was pulling the flat sheet off then, wrapping himself in that first before the blanket. He had suspected the scent would distract him from sleeping, but that wasn’t the case. Keith was dead to the world in a matter of minutes, and it was a good dead. When he rose in the morning, he’d only slept for seven hours as opposed to his standard thirteen. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been awake this early. No one else was up, or at least not moving around.

Keith was feeling pretty well rested—social, even—and so he went looking for the other two people he knew to be in the vicinity. This search turned up even less than the one last night,  Shiro being absent from the balcony. Allura’s room was the only place he hadn’t checked. Keith knocked twice and waited. No reply.  He’d never let himself into a woman’s room before (Pidge didn’t count). Technically, Allura was an _alien_ woman. He bit the bullet and turned the handle.

It was dark in there; the sunlight streaming in from the terrace dampened by two or three diaphanous layers of pink drapes. The recessed blue lights in the ceiling grew a bit brighter as Keith crept into the room, footsteps muffled in the thick carpeting. He could hear a murmur now that the door was open, though there was no TV or radio switched on that he could see—

“Keith.” He jumped. That was Shiro. He was still going, too, but the words weren’t discernable, syllables melting together into a low susurration. Sleeptalk. Keith pressed forward toward the bed, Shiro’s voice growing clearer the closer he went. “Keith, stay—here, stay out of—”

A groan. “Shiro, _shut up_.” Wait, was that Allura? Keith craned his neck to search for her mass of hair at the other side of the bed. No dice. That large mound beneath the white comforter was all but motionless. Reservations gone, Keith stalked up to the head of the bed and bent forward with intent to rip the blanket off entirely. A hand shot out toward his throat.

Keith jerked back, stumbling off-balance and seizing the headboard to right himself. A dark hand was around that metal wrist. Keith swallowed hard when the bright violet hand at the end of that arm didn’t pull back, still close enough for him to feel its searing heat. Allura’s head emerged from the comforter and she gave the arm a sharp twist. “It’s all right, Shiro. It’s just Keith.”

She yanked the blanket back to reveal the top of Shiro’s head. “Keith,” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. The glow faded as he lowered his arm. “Don’t…don’t do that.” Allura snorted and gave his head a pat.

“Is there, uh,” Keith faltered, releasing the headboard and trying not to think about how Allura just saved his literal neck. “Is there something you guys want to tell me?”

“Um. Not in particular,” said Allura, tucking the comforter back down around Shiro’s shoulders and settling back down beyond the wall of his wide back. “Did you need something?”

“No, I…” Keith flexed his fingers, digging his heels into the carpet and regretting letting go of the headboard; he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, now. “Are you guys...dating, or something?”

Shiro stifled a yawn. “No, Keith.”

“Then. Why are you. In her bed?”

“Because you took his bed,” Allura stated. Oh. Keith wished he’d known that before he’d enthusiastically encased himself in the sheets.

Shiro groped for the covers to jerk them back up over his head. “It’s just skinship, Keith. Don’t make it weird.” Uh, Keith couldn’t be the one making it weird if it just _was_.

He hovered there, too bewildered to just walk out. “...I.”

“Birds of a feather roost together,” Allura cryptically declared. “And the birds are still roosting, so if you’re not getting in, go away.” Okay, Keith sure as hell wasn’t touching that, so back to his—Shiro’s—bed he went, kicking off the sheet this time.

*

The next time he awoke was to the din of conversation. Keith groaned as the blurry shell of his sleep broke open over his head. It was Allura, and some new, carrot-orange man.

“I thought I heard you wake up,” she said with a smile as Keith approached, lethargic. He was dragging his feet. He shouldn’t have gone back to bed. “I mentioned Coran, a while back. Coran, this is Keith.”

“Ah, Keith!” Coran quipped, twirling his moustache and leaning in for a better look. “The broody one! I’ve heard of you.”

“Coran,” swallowed Allura. “Don’t call him broody to his face.”

“It’s fine,” Keith said, scratching his belly. “Old people say insensitive things, sometimes.”

Coran crossed his arms. “I’m…I’m not old.”

“Of course not,” Allura reassured with a gentle pat, moving around him to get at the coffeepot. It was the same model that sat in his and Pidge’s place, and the only thing in the flat that he really recognized. Keith was suddenly put at ease, fog in his mind clearing just enough to make a certain connection now that he’d had some rest.

“Allura. You already know about the, uh, Trash Can Knife Incident, don’t you?”

“You know I do,” she answered, a white mug floating down from the cabinet to rest in her hand. “Though I call it the Case of the Knife in the Nighttime.”

“What Shiro...said.” Keith rubbed at his arms, feeling the onset of gooseflesh. “What did you see? I mean. He got that from you, didn’t he?”

Allura’s laugh rang out like a bell. “Keith! Is that what you think?” She shook her head as she mixed in a packet of sugar. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“What? But.” He stepped a little closer to make room for Coran to open the fridge. “The things that come out of his mouth, it—it just felt like an omen, or something.”

“Well, sure.” Allura shrugged, doing a taste test. “That’s just Shiro. Spend enough time around him and you’ll quickly come to know it. I suppose I see why you suspected me, but honestly.” Another packet of sugar went into the steaming cup, followed by her spoon. “I don’t presume to know what will happen in the future. I’m not a fortune teller.”

“Certainly not,” Coran cut in, earning himself a withering look.

“If not you, what, then?” Keith pressed on. She was omitting something. “What are you and Pidge hiding? Is it just that he's insane and you don't want to say it?” Allura stopped stirring, and Keith waited, waited for a clipped retort or some other reaction symptomatic of the nerve he’d touched, but it never came. The spoon clattered into the sink and she wrapped her hands around the mug.

“Well,” returned Coran after Allura declined to comment, “I believe you Earthlings have a maxim for that? ‘Even a stopped clock is right twice a day,’ or—or otherwise?”

“No,” said Allura, into her coffee. “He may or may not be losing a little bit of his mind, but Shiro is no broken clock. He’s always right.” Her grip tightened around the porcelain when Keith opened his mouth to speak again. “No. This is not a discussion. All that you or I are able to do is live our own lives and play our own parts.” She walked off toward her bedroom, the quiet direction of her voice folding inward. “That, and hope that he won’t suffer long.”

Keith left the kitchen without another word, no closer to the truth than he’d been at the start. Whether he was driven by curiosity or annoyance, he couldn’t say, but if Keith wanted any answers, he was realizing he would need to mine them directly from the vein.

Any pretense of modesty was thrown to the wind as he opened doors at random. Shiro was right there behind the door to the bathroom, submerged up to his ears in the huge ceramic tub. For all his unsettling lack of movement as Keith stomped in, he might have been a corpse.

The lack of reaction wasn’t at all what Keith was expecting—that seemed to be the trend, with Shiro—and now, feeling like Hamlet staring down at the drowned Ophelia, he’d all but forgotten why he’d come in at all. Shiro’s lips slowly shaped a mild smile. “Are you getting in, or...?”

Keith’s back smacked up against the door. “N-No, I—”

“I’m _joking_ ,” Shiro chuckled, glancing over at him. “How is it that I’m naked and you're still the jumpy one?”

“Because you’re a miscreant,” Keith lashed back, alarmed at how fast his heart was beating. He hoped Shiro couldn't hear it. With Keith’s luck, he’d turn out to have bionic _ears_ , too.

Shiro calmly closed his eyes and sank a little deeper into the bath. “That's a matter of opinion.”

Keith cautiously moved forward again, lowering himself to his hands and knees and crawling over the cool tile to sit against the side of the basin. He wasn’t sure of what he was doing anymore, or what he was even looking at. The tub was full of opaque, pink liquid. Shiro exhaled hard, disturbing the surface.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re like a cat?”

Keith side-eyed him. “How so?”

“The less I look for you, the more you come around.” Keith yelped as Shiro playfully aimed a dripping pink foot at his head. “An adorable, grouchy little cat.”

“I’m not—” He ducked again as the foot came swinging back. “I’m not adorable.”

“So you admit you’re grouchy, then,” Shiro said, lowering his leg back into the tub and pushing himself into an upright position. Oh, he was so… deliciously… _frustrating._

Keith spied something dark at the base of his neck and pushed forward, feeling a surge of antagonism. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” asked Shiro, turning to Keith again. The flick of his eyelashes was almost feminine. _Pretty._

Keith paid no attention to his burning cheeks. “That. That thing on your neck.”

“This?” Rosy water rippled over Shiro’s chest as he raised a broad palm to the mark in question. “This is my prisoner ID.”

...Right. That detail had entirely slipped Keith’s memory, that Shiro had been locked up. “How’d you end up in there? You must have done something, I don’t know. Bad?”

“Yeah, must have,” agreed Shiro, darkly. “I’m still trying to figure out exactly what that was.”

Keith dipped a couple fingers in the steaming liquid. It was cooler than he thought it would be. “You're saying they didn’t _tell you_ why they locked you up?”

“Well,” Shiro mused, “I first knew that I was under arrest and en route to a prison outside the jurisdiction of the Alliance when a voice came on over the shuttle PA system and said, ‘You are under arrest and en route to a prison outside the jurisdiction of the Alliance. Noncompliance will be met with death. Do not try to escape.’” He rubbed his chin. “I think it was then that I suspected that any noncompliance could be met with death and maybe I shouldn’t try to escape.”

“Okay, Vonnegut,” said Keith, fighting a grin. “Then what happened?”

Shiro pushed himself over to Keith and hooked his wet elbow over the lip of the tub. Keith didn’t hate it, being face-to-face. He was rewarded with a dimpled smile from Shiro when he didn’t pull away. “You _like_ this game.”

“I do.” Keith lacked any motivation to lie. His gut told him that Shiro would see through him anyway, if he tried.

A plated elbow joined the first, then Shiro’s chin on top of that. “Well, I was told the Earth Federation gave me up because my offense was in conflict with some intergalactic treatise. Not sure if that was true or bullshit, but after that I got thrown in with all the other unfortunate souls and did manual labor mining ore during the day. It really wasn’t that bad, for an alien prison. Lights out was worse because that’s when the guards got bored.”

Keith watched Shiro’s metal fingers twitch for a few moments. It took a while for his voice to come out. “What happened when the guards got bored?”

“Dogfights, usually in the back hallways,” Shiro answered, after a bit. His voice had gone flat; he was talking at Keith, rather than to him. “I got the better of them the first time one tried to drag me back there, but that didn’t…end so well.” Another pause. “I ended up back there again when I got out of medical, so I did what I thought I had to do. I already told you how that turned out.” His hand flexed again, silver knuckles rolling. “It wasn’t worth it.”

Shiro wasn’t really looking at him anymore, and Keith couldn't discern where he was, other than that it was somewhere far off, somewhere adrift. Deep, open waters. No matter. He wouldn't get away from Keith, not so easily at least.

He extended a pinky and prodded Shiro’s human elbow. Shiro refocused on him, blinking owlishly as he was reeled back into the shallows. “Are you going to ask about my scars now?”

“No,” said Keith. He didn’t want to hear about the jagged blemish that marked Shiro’s face, or those two he was pointedly ignoring, the ones that raked down his chest—not now, not yet. “Tell me how you met Allura instead.”

Shiro chuckled. “That’s a story I’d prefer to tell when I’m not sitting naked in the bath. Ask me again some other time.” No, Keith knew better. That was a deflection. Shiro was smooth with those.

He reached in to submerge his entire hand, this time. “She broke you out, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.” Amusement flickered over Shiro’s face. “She did.”

Keith wanted to explore that sometime, that hint of nostalgia in the grey, but it could wait. He’d let himself get carried away in a distraction.

Playtime was over at last.

“Shiro.”

“Keith.”

He wrapped a hand around Shiro’s mechanical wrist. “Tell me where we met.”

Shiro didn’t respond immediately.

“Tell me where we met,” Keith repeated, tightening his grip, “and what you meant when you said what you did.”

“Where we met is _not important now_ ,” asserted Shiro, peeling Keith’s fingers off his arm. Pink water lapped up Keith’s wrist as he moved away. The tables had turned, between the two of them. “I’m neither surprised nor upset that you don’t remember. And just forget that I said anything at all. I shouldn't have said it in front of you.”

A demand like that was so impossible as to be stupid. Keith could just-! Just lunge into the bath and _shake him._ “What on earth does that mean? You can’t just ask me to pretend like that didn't happen!”

“I recall you asking me to do something similar last night.”

“That’s not the same and you know it,” snapped Keith. “Why won’t you answer me?!” He grabbed Shiro by the arm when he didn’t reply. “Shiro!”

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ you to know, Keith,” Shiro said at last, voice straining. Keith tried to meet his eyes, but Shiro wouldn’t let him. “I know it’s not fair to you, and I'm sorry. It's me. I’m the one who’s afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Keith wanted to know.

“You,” murmured Shiro. “Scaring you again. And how you could hurt me if I did.” Keith didn’t know what to best say to that. Shiro chanced a look at him when he failed to say anything at all. “...You’re angry? Or—”

“No, I’m.” Keith pulled his hand from the water, wiping it on his shirt. “I'm not angry, Shiro, I—I don't know. I think I'm just frustrated with you.”

A splash. Shiro had dropped his arm back into the basin. “...Sorry.”

He was likely assuming Keith was blaming him already, but that wasn't the case. Keith didn't want to blame Shiro—that, that would hurt him for sure. And while it was true that a few months ago Keith had _tried_ to hurt him, somehow he felt it wouldn't be inflicting the same type of hurt, nor the same sort of cruel.

Shiro wasn’t his enemy. Shiro was mist incarnate, a thousand yards away again over the water, and Keith couldn't imagine why he'd ever wanted to hurt this strange, clouded man at all.

Maybe he'd been asking the wrong questions.

“Shiro,” Keith said, gripping the tub. “You’re never going to tell me where you met me, are you?”

“Probably not,” Shiro confessed without an ounce of mirth.

“And why is that?”

“Because.” He inhaled, folding his arms over the rim for a second time. “What I shouldn't have said is going to sound even stranger if I do.”

Keith cocked his head. “You shouldn't make beds you can't lie in.”

Shiro uncurled one mechanical finger and laid it on the tip of Keith’s nose. “You're certainly right about that.” Keith wrinkled that nose, though he didn't swat Shiro away. No need. The digit retreated on its own. There was nothing between their faces now but a few inches of empty air.

“I heard you were the one that was always right,” challenged Keith, gaze locked with Shiro’s.

“Maybe so,” admitted Shiro. “But I’ve never doubted myself the way I do with you.” He raised his offending fingertip to eye level; the one he’d just touched to Keith’s nose. Keith looked down. Something was there, at the apex. An eyelash.

The same force that imbibed Keith all those months ago under that streetlight, and again in the penthouse elevator, burst forth like a hurricane. Keith reeled, wave after wave of nervous energy crashing over him without mercy or care. He was swept away before his body had an opportunity to respond this time, before he had the thought to resist—no sweaty palms, no conflagration, no smothering pressure under his ribs. Keith was snatched punch-drunk into the wall of the storm, and what was there, what was past the unforgiving deluge of furious emotion and waiting there placid in the eye—

Shiro. There had never been anything but Shiro, and his stillness that seemed to permeate the very air around him, ensconcing Keith now like a cloak. He was still there before Keith, staring expectantly as if Keith was meant to simply find all his answers in the nebula behind his dark eyes. Was it possible? Keith could see something back there, faint but just bright enough to catch his eye. Something beautiful. Something unimaginable.

A spark of the divine.

“Shiro,” Keith breathed. The lash vanished with his puff of air, wish forgotten. “You—”

“Out of the bath,” Allura commanded, throwing open the door. “Or I'm coming in whether you're there or not.”

“Allura,” shouted Shiro as she kicked off her fuzzy socks. “Wait!”

“Not a chance, it’s going to be cold by the time you get out of there,” she declared. “You always do this. Use my nice salts and then soak up all the heat without me. I don't see why you even care whether I see that silly little thing.”

“It is neither _silly_ nor _little_ ,” Shiro cried, with a wide eye on Keith, who had by now crawled halfway to the door. Allura stepped around him. “Please—Allura, I don't want to see you naked, either, so just _wait!_ ”

Allura had already shed her cardigan. “You are such a prude. There's plenty of room in there for both of us.” Shiro yelled, but Keith was _gone_.

“What’s all the fuss, my boy?” Coran inquired as Keith retrieved his coat and communicator from the coffee table.

“They're fighting over who’s allowed to be naked,” Keith articulated, throwing his jacket on. “I’m out.”

“Ah.” Coran calmly sipped what Keith could only assume was coffee from the pot. “The usual chicanery, then. It’ll end once we’re back on Altea, I’ll wager. We won't be sharing bathrooms there.”

Keith paused. “Where?”

“Altea.” Coran blinked back at him. “Our homeworld.”

“I didn't know you were leaving.”

“Of course,” said Coran, finishing his cup. “That’s all the princess wants, is to go home. She wouldn't be here on your planet if we didn't need to reclaim certain things that belonged to her in the first place. As soon as she has all we need, we’ll be mobile.”

Keith stepped a bit closer. The wrong questions. He'd been asking the wrong questions to the wrong people. “Shiro, too?”

“Sure.” Coran took up the coffee pot for a refill. “He and the princess agreed on that just shy of a year ago. Meant for space, that man. Not built to live a life in orbit. And just the one you want around for a voyage on a restored ship. I’m glad to have him.”

“He can’t be leaving,” Keith found himself protesting. Coran raised the coffee pot in offering and he shook his head. “He wouldn't do that.”

“Why not?” Coran returned the pot to the brewer. “Did he say something to you?”

“Yeah,” Keith clipped. “He said I was going to fall in love with him.” Coran spat hot coffee down his front.

“Y-Yes, well, you know, he’s. Goodness. I don't know why he’d think to tell you that,” he coughed, mopping at himself with a dishtowel, “but you can’t read into that, lad, you really can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t ‘read into it?’” Keith didn't have a high tolerance for bullshit to begin with, and his meter was full after just one morning in this household. “There’s nothing to read into, isn’t this as cut and dried as it _gets_?”

Coran opened the tap to blot his shirt. “What I mean to say is that it's not a matter of whether you believe him or not. Whatever will happen will happen as it will. That being said.” Keith watched as the stain lifted. “There’s only one person that can say what Shiro is thinking. That would be the princess. And—perhaps I shouldn’t say this, but she’s only instructed me to prepare one extra space on the ship, once we depart.” He dropped the soiled towel in the sink. “It’s best to remember that the things we expect don’t always happen in the way that we hope.”

Coran had washed and wrung out the cloth before Keith realized he’d neglected to respond. He scraped a fingernail over the band of the communicator on his wrist. “I should go home.”

“Mind yourself on the way,” said Coran with a tip of his head. Keith didn’t feel it necessary to risk a return to the washroom just for the sake of telling either Shiro or Allura goodbye. There wasn’t a point to that. They’d figure out or hear that he left from Coran once they were done with their tiff. It was rude, sure, but he was hungry, and Keith had never been one to do things just because they were considered polite. Yet here he was still, letting it weigh on him even as he stepped outside onto the busy street, dodged people on the sidewalk, ground his heel into the pavement as he waited for the signal to turn green.

He wondered what Shiro would think.

Pidge’s ringtone sounded when Keith was about five minutes from home. He removed the communicator’s detachable earpiece from its housing on his wrist. “Hey.”

“So you're alive, then,” Pidge sniffed. Keith could hear her clacking away at her keyboard. “You said you were stepping out for a bit and then never came back. What happened?”

Keith cleared his throat to make room for a lie. “I popped into a bar and picked up a _bad bitch_.”

“No way. You look like warm coleslaw, no one would look twice—”

“I get so much ass, Pidge. You don’t even know,” Keith retorted, tripping over a crack in the pavement as he fought to keep deadpan. “I am drowning in ass. I am—I am neck deep.”

“Okay,” giggled Pidge. “Whatever you say. When are you getting back? Are you coming home soon?”

Keith nodded without realizing she couldn’t see him. “Yeah, I’m only a block or so away.”

“Do you wanna order delivery and watch a movie? There’s a new drama on demand I’ve been looking at, but I wanted to see it with you.” Keith stopped short on the sidewalk, having expected her to ask a favor instead.

“I. Sure,” he said after a second, staring up at the lavender, cloud-streaked sky. “Sounds great.”

*

 Shiro. The man, the myth. The legend, apparently.

“Just between the three of us? That guy’s kind of my idol,” Lance gabbed. Keith was at the tiny apartment he and Hunk shared, mooching off their day-old Chinese food.

“What. Why?” he asked, with a demanding rotation of his chopsticks.

Well. “You know, he’s everything I, uh, _aspire to be_ ,” was the reply. Keith took his time chewing to watch Lance rave. “You never come hang out, but. He’s cool, smart. Respected in his field. And—this is the most important part! Ladykiller. When I was in for the aerospace exam I met a guy that _swore_ he saw a girl take off her panties and throw them at him.” Lance, _please_. “And of course the fact that he’s a little bit of a celebrity, can’t discount that.”

Keith screwed up an eyebrow. “Since when?”

“What? You applied to the national academy to be a pilot and you don’t _know?_ ” Lance didn't have a leg to stand on relishing in Keith’s ignorance like this. Both of them were rejects. “There was an accident during reentry of one of the passenger shuttles, you never heard? The pilot had a stroke at the controls and blew one of the engines, Shiro was the co-pilot trainee—shuttles weren’t even his specialization, he did a _water landing_ , can you believe it? Down by the coast? God, you’re out of the loop.” As if it were Keith’s fault. He never owned a TV,  not until moving in with Pidge.

He did look it all up, later that night in the privacy of his room. There was no footage, the incident having happened in the ocean, and no interviews, either—only an out-of-focus image of Shiro waving the photographer off with his right hand, still flesh and bone. _No comment._

His military headshot was there, however, attached at the bottom of the official report. Keith maximized the overexposed photo; Shiro looked _nothing_ like himself. This man could be ten years younger, what with a full head of dark hair. Clear, unmarred skin. A suntan. Keith’s memory stirred, maybe.

He waited until their next team meeting to follow Shiro out of Allura’s condo, down the street to do her grocery shopping. Shiro gave him a _look_ , obviously surprised to have company, but didn’t say anything until Keith explicitly asked him about the story. _Is it true?_ He’d just shrugged, more interested in the head of lettuce he was inspecting than Keith’s question. _Lance likes to exaggerate. It wasn’t anything extraordinary._ He didn’t wait for Keith to follow him, broad shoulders disappearing around the corner.

Interesting.

_You never come hang out, but_. ...Why was that, again? Keith struggled to remember his prior convictions. Introversion didn’t really cut it, so when Pidge and Allura next called on him to go out after another long day of efforts to hack the stolen hard drive, and Keith didn’t have it in him to say no. He was in a dimly lit bar with the rest of them before he knew it, crammed in and knocking knees with Shiro who sat opposite him across the crowded table. Shiro, who slipped him the last of the food while everyone was distracted, and casually kept Keith’s water glass full after Pidge had cut his alcohol off. Shiro, who looked really, _really_ handsome in the red mood lighting—started a game of tic-tac-toe with Keith on a spare napkin—sent him smoky, blue raspberry smiles that had nothing in common with the other patrons’ flavored cigarettes. Keith's mouth ran dry as Shiro topped off his glass again. He was attempting a question.

Keith couldn't hear. Keith was trying to piece together all of Shiro’s incongruous facets in his head. It wasn't working. He might never marry the light and dark of this man.

Keith was okay with that. He was confident he could make sense of himself, at least, and also—

“What do you like about him?” Pidge had another cheesy TV drama playing while she slaved over the alien drive, and Keith hadn't really been watching, but the seed had been sown. _Something about him_. Keith reached up, nervously twisting one of his black plugs.

Maybe it came down to the gentle, earthy nature of his voice when it was meant for Keith’s ears, or the wide smile Shiro didn't unfurl every day, at least not to people that weren't Keith. Or maybe it was the way Keith had to work to keep up with his long strides, pretending he always walked that fast because Shiro would surely slow down for him otherwise. _What else?_ Keith switched ears. Mm. Shiro’s large hands and the graceful way he used his strong fingers. The stark, straight angle of his nose, different from the sloped shape of the one in Keith’s mirror. What he knew Shiro looked like under his clothes, the forward slant of his hips and the only thought that came to mind when he called that image forth. _Yes._ Wait.

_..._ Oh, no.

_He liked that,_ them, all of the unintentional things Shiro had or did, the ones that made his obstinacy melt down like warm butter, that had Keith feeling _soft_ and _gooey_ and _pliant_. Keith wished Shiro had come out of the package wearing a flashing neon sign, one that said _Caution!,_ or at a least a little sticker with the words _not safe for human consumption_ , because he really wasn't. Nothing about him was. Not his strong hands, not his long strides, and definitely not the friendly way he flirted with Allura between meetings, squirting sink water at her and laughing when she screamed.

Keith wanted to play too, with _Shiro_ , like _that_ , to be one who knew what that felt like, but it was no good. Shiro wouldn't approach him like that, not anymore; never since that first time, God, never after Keith told him _no_. It was just his imagination, Shiro’s furtive glance over Allura’s shoulder. He had no right to feel so...so...?

So sudden yet slow, maybe, the way Keith’s eyes were cracking open to a brave, new world. What a mess—he was having the _messy_ kind of dreams before he knew it, physical enough to have him waking up too-warm and short of breath. Certain thoughts of Shiro were enough to make Keith, make him, _ahh—!_

...Yeah, thought Keith, pushing sweat-sodden bangs back from his forehead with his clean hand. A warning label would be nice.

No matter. Keith would win this game (he wouldn't get hooked) because he had a trump card (yes) a get-out-of-jail-free card in the form of dopamine inhibitors and serotonin suppressors, the pinnacle of auto-injector technology, neatly stashed in his pocket. Keith was sure to take a preventative hit whenever he felt that addictive, affectionate rush (and it didn't matter that that was each and every time they met).

The weather was just starting to warm up when Allura assigned them a burglary. The meeting point was a safe click south of the alien-owned biowaste plant they needed to hit. She wanted something called _scaultrite_ , something rare and valuable enough that it was being smuggled through under the guise of hazardous waste. Shiro showed up to the rendezvous with a sore throat. Everyone was rifling through their pockets for a lozenge. Not Keith. Keith was busy rummaging for his injector pen, occupied with the sharp pain of a needle in his thigh.

“Tch,” he’d jeered once that was finished, crossing his arms. “Weak.” Shiro was incredulous, and with good reason. Keith had been uncharacteristically mean to him, lately.

“Are you really belittling me for catching a cold?” he’d rasped in wonder. “As if you've never been sick.”

“I haven't,” contested Keith, chest high. “Not a day in my life.” Shiro raised a skeptical eyebrow in return, and that had been it.

Wrong.

Not a week had passed before Keith was laid out on his bed _burning_ from the inside out, angry purple target rashes mottling his scorched skin. Pidge was no help, ruthlessly relegating his bedroom to quarantine once the rashes oozed open. She opened the door to slip food and water inside, but Keith never reached it. He had never known subjugation like this: skin stuck to the sheets, sweat soaking into the mattress as mornings slurred into nights slurred into mornings again. Keith didn't know how many days he’d been in bed before his ears caught a familiar set of footsteps in their tiny foyer. He knew that measure. _Shiro_.

“You can’t just _leave him there_ , Katie,” Shiro anguished as they made their way into the hall. He was agitated, Keith could tell. “He’ll starve.”

“Sure, I mean, eventually, but there’s nothing wrong with him! He’s such a _baby_ ,” Pidge argued, though her worried face didn’t leave the corner of the doorframe as Shiro entered Keith’s filthy room. “He just has...alien chicken pox, or something!”

Shiro came nearer until he was standing over the bed. “You call this nothing wrong?” Keith scowled up at him as he adjusted his surgical mask.

Pidge fidgeted. “Well—”

“Start the bath.” He crouched down to Keith’s face level as Pidge disappeared. “Keith. Come on. I know you’re awake.” Keith had energy enough to turn his head into the pillow and emit a muffled groan. Shiro’s breath came short and fast. He was trying not to laugh. “Are you gonna scratch me if I pick you up, kitten?”

“No,” said Keith, miserably.

“Come here,” Shiro whispered then, unsticking Keith from the bed linens and removing the clips from his dirty hair _._ Keith curled into him on reflex as he was effortlessly gathered up. Shiro paid no mind to the lavender stains seeping into the loose white knit of his turtleneck, carefully maneuvering out of the room as he held Keith tight. He felt so _nice_ , smelled so _safe_ , those comforting notes of candy and quality aftershave, and _fuck_ is what Keith would usually be thinking with no injector pen in sight, but at that moment he was too feverish to do anything but give Shiro permission to strip him down to his boxers and lower him into the tepid, rising water. The tables had turned once again.

“Shiro,” Keith limply mewled as Shiro pushed his sleeves up over his elbows and reached for the powdered oats and baby soap. “Shiro, I’m dying.”

“No you’re not,” Shiro eased through his mask, dumping in a few handfuls and stirring the water around. “You’re going to be fine. You just have...alien chicken pox, or something.”

“I’m sorry I made fun of you.” Keith could hear himself snivelling as Shiro dipped a washcloth and gently began to wash his face, turning into his touch when he grazed the _most amazing_ spot behind Keith’s ear. “I'm sorry I was mean. I was wrong. This is karma.”

Shiro chuckled. “I agree. So, no need to apologize.” He dropped the cloth on the tub and rose to his feet, face framed by the enormous halo of the round overhead light. “Don’t fall asleep before the tub is full. I’ll be back to wash your hair and rinse you off.” And so Keith was left alone to soak until Shiro returned to do as he said he would, wrapping Keith in a blanket and taking him out to the kitchen to spoonfeed him reheated soup. That huge Pyrex bowl wasn’t native to their kitchen. Shiro must have made this himself. Keith wished he could hate how good it was, but oh he loved it, he loved it _all_ , from the soup to the repose, to the napkin Shiro had firm under his chin. Pidge shook her head at him, judgmental over Shiro’s shoulder. _You little shit._ This was simultaneously the worst and best day of Keith’s life, from the second Shiro stepped in to the moment he blew back out the door.

His room was clean when he made it back in later that night, if it weren’t pathetic enough already; sheets changed and all his laundry washed. It felt like a cosmic warning. Keith sensed he would have to be real fucking nice to Shiro from now on if he didn’t want the universe to kick his ass again. Maybe this was what people called growing pains. Maybe it was just a form of defeat.

He did try to call at least, after he was feeling better. Keith sheepishly got the number from Pidge, but Shiro never picked up. Keith’s number probably displayed as unknown. It was too embarrassing to mention in person, so Keith just didn’t. It was fine. It was Shiro. He already knew. Keith twisted a hand in his sweater.

His chest hurt.

*

“Keith.”

Keith twisted around as best he could, being seated cross-legged on the pavement. “What?”

Hunk was leaning out, trying to get a look at his face. “You okay, buddy? Spaced out on me there.” Yeah. He’d been doing that a lot lately, escaping into his own head.

The lot of them had been drowning in idle time with Allura and Coran off-planet for ship repairs. No Allura meant no work, and while Keith wasn’t opposed to a vacation, he’d never been able to get excited about long periods of inactivity. It was like being unemployed. Keith _hated_ being unemployed. There was only so much inaction he could stand and so much money he could lose playing midnight poker on Lance’s chipped coffee table before he was feeling that itch for a certain sort of catharsis. What a coincidence. Hunk called with news of a race on the docket, and the payout was _big._

“Sorry,” Keith said, dragging his fingernails up his forearms. “I'm just, you know. Tired.” Hunk let the silence stretch, content to watch a spindly group of aliens doing last-minute maintenance on their rider’s craft until Keith decided to speak up again. “Question.”

“Shoot,” said Hunk.

“Where's the ride?” After his bike was trashed, Hunk had fallen into the role of sourcing Keith’s vehicle whenever there was an event. Usually he swiped a finished repair from his shop, but tonight there was nothing in sight.

“Oh, yeah, about that,” Hunk said, awkwardly scratching at his throat as Lance appeared behind him with a half-eaten takeout-wrapped burrito. “You know business has been...slow recently. The garage is empty, and we both know I'm not letting you use my car, so. I asked Shiro if we could use his old bike.” Keith slammed his face into his knees and groaned. This wasn't supposed to be that kind of stress.

“Hunk. _Why_.”

Lance chortled through his food, passing Hunk a can of cola. “I thought we weren't going to tell him until he rolled up.”

Hunk popped the tab open and sighed. “Look, man, we should, you know, talk. About you...and Shiro.” Oh, hellfire.

“Do we really have to do this in front of Lance,” Keith moaned into his kneecaps.

“Hey. I know _things_ ,” Lance loudly chewed, punctuating his words with a sideward swing of his hips. “I’m _perceptive_.”

Keith glowered up at the both of them. “How about we just change the topic.”

“No—Keith—okay, how do I say this,” Hunk floundered, spilling some of his soda. “I care about you. Lance too, I mean— _we_ care about you, and obviously neither of us can speak to whatever weird drama is going on between you two, but—”

“We can tell you like him,” smarmed Lance.

“I DON’T LIKE HIM,” Keith all but screeched, drawing the downward attention of numerous passersby. Hunk dropped his head in disbelief as Lance cackled in satisfaction.

“You wanna know how I know you like him?” Lance coughed, pounding at his chest to gain composure. “You wanna know?”

“Yeah, tell me,” said Keith, “I really wanna fuckin’ know.”

Lance peeled a layer of foil away from his burrito. “Well first of all, your face is as red as that traffic light.” Keith meant to argue that point, but Lance cut him off. “Plus you used to bitch about him all the time, used to bring him up just to bitch way back in the beginning, you remember that, don’t you Hunk?”

“Yes, Lance, I remember,” Hunk exhaled. Keith’s glower devolved into a grimace as Lance wagged a finger in his face.

“Got him on the _brain_.” He dove in for another bite. “Telltale sign, Keith. And it’s been like five months and you’re still shit at being mean to him, like you make an effort sometimes but never really aim for the heart like you do with me and Pidge, you know? Hunk, buddy, back me up here.”

Hunk capitulated after a few snaps of Lance’s fingers. “Okay, yeah, remember the other day when we all went out for burgers, and you had to sit next to Shiro and couldn’t even get a french fry in your mouth—”

“ _Keith, are you okay?_ ” said Lance, in a shitty imitation of Shiro’s voice.

“—and then you spilled the whole basket of them in his lap and ran away to the bathroom for twenty-five minutes,” Hunk forced out, through tears. “And the whole time we were all speculating about what you were doing in there, and Shiro said you must have _fallen in—_ ”

“You know what? Fuck both of you,” Keith seethed as the two of them doubled over in hysterics. “Fuck you both. Goodbye.”

Hunk grabbed his elbow and pulled him back down before he could make it to his feet. “All right, no, I’m sorry, don’t be mad. It’s just that we’ve never seen you date or anything, so it’s really funny to see you with a crush like this.”

“I don’t have a crush. I don’t _get_ crushes!” Keith was hard pressed to drive his voice down below a shout, knuckles white in his fists. “I’m not weak, I don’t _like_ him, so stop _saying_ it!”

And there it was. Laid bare, on the ground in front of everyone. It had been there the entire time. It was looking pretty tarnished, too, after nearly half a year.

“Keith… it's okay if you like him,” Lance said, sobered. “Really. It’s not a weakness or anything, just look at me. You know I’ve liked lots of girls.”

“Yeah, and look where that got you,” Keith snapped. If Lance wanted to joke about aiming for the heart, well, Keith could _do that_. “Stranded in a dump like this after a pretty one lured you in and stole all your money. If that’s not a deficiency I don’t know what is.”

“Fuck you. Is that what you think about me?” Lance was bristling. Keith had only said it to silence him, but the blow had landed lower than intended. “I was thinking of marrying her, Keith, how can you just sit there and—”

“Sorry,” Keith cut in, crushing the heels of his palms into his eyelids. “Look, I didn’t mean it, can we just...can we please just drop this?” Lance turned away to take another, angry bite of his burrito.

Hunk fiddled with the tab on his cola can for a minute before speaking up again. “We can drop it if you really want. I just think, you know, you might be comfortable with a certain image you have of yourself, but that’s never who we really are, right? Your self-image, or the person other people think you are, that’s never the real thing—and even if it was, people change all the time, so. I guess I’m saying you shouldn’t stick yourself in a box with a label like that, especially when the box gets...too small, or whatever.” He snapped off the tab and tossed it into the rain-slick street. “And Lance is right, man. However you’re feeling, like I know you’re uncomfortable, but it’s fine. It’s normal. There aren’t any abnormal or bad feelings. And I totally know you’re going to say no, but I really think you might feel better if you just...you know. Talk to him.”

Keith hadn’t spoken with Shiro at length since the morning he barged in on him in the bathtub. “Hunk,” he said, into the night. “I know you mean well. But I really, _really_ don’t want to do that.”

“Okay, but why?” Hunk positioned his can for another sip. “This might be personal and all, but what happened, exactly?”

“He got in my face the night we met,” said Keith. “Said I was gonna fall in love with him.” Lance choked on his burrito. “Felt threatened so I pulled my knife.” Soda squirted out of Hunk’s nose. Keith turned to face the two of them dead on. “And that’s where it’s at.”

“Jesus,” Lance said, once he’d cleared his airways. “I did _not_ get that vibe from him.”

“Dude, well, I mean,” Hunk attempted, airing his splattered shirt. “No, like, you know what, the advice still stands. You should talk to him. This is just more reason you should talk to him. Right? You’d definitely feel more comfortable, right? Your life would get easier, right?”

Keith heaved a sigh and looked up at the light pollution. “How did I end up surrounded by people who are always right?”

“Dunno, man. Maybe you should start listening to us.”

Keith turned his eyes away to the pavement, down to his shoes, way over to the flashing red traffic lights. “So, uh,” he coughed. “Does Shiro ever. Ask about me?”

“Oh.” Hunk’s eyes widened. “Oh, you mean like does he-?” He swiveled to Lance, face pinching down into a frown. Lance mirrored the sentiment. “ _Does_ he…?”

“Nah,” munched Lance after a brief moment. “He would mention him if he did, right? He'd at least be like, ‘oh hey guys, where's Keith?’ I haven't even heard him say that.”

“Yeah, he asks for Pidge, usually,” Hunk tacked on, drumming his fingers against his chin. “If he talks about anyone it's either her or Allura, right?” Lance just shrugged, and Keith’s tight control over his facial muscles must have lapsed for a moment, because Hunk was suddenly backpedalling, waving his hands in Keith’s face like he’d been wrongly accused. “T-That isn’t to say that he doesn’t care if you show up or not! That’s not what I meant!”

“I didn’t say anything,” said Keith, more petulantly than he would have liked.

“Hunk,” Lance suddenly urged.n

Hunk kept flapping his wrists. “I mean, obviously he still asks for Pidge if you come, but it’s completely different!”

“Just stop,” Keith cautioned.

Lance leaned in. “Guys—”

“It’s not like, he’s disappointed if you’re there and Pidge isn’t or anything! If anything, it’s more like, a happy coincidence! Serendipity! ‘Oh, hey! It’s Keith!’”

“You’re making it worse!” Keith yelled.

“Am I interrupting something?” asked Shiro.

Keith jumped as Hunk grabbed at him in fright, smacking the back of his head hard against the concrete side of the building he was sitting against. Lance sighed hard as Keith wheezed in pain, Shiro dubiously eyeing the three of them from the saddle of his white hoverbike. “I tried, alright?”

“Why are you guys looking at me like that?” Shiro worried over the electric hum of the engines, pulling off his helmet. He aimed a tentative smile at Keith as they made eye contact. It quickly vanished when Keith dodged his gaze. “I really did interrupt something, didn’t I?”

Hunk was flailing for a second time. “No no, you definitely—”

“Think I’ll go buy a drink,” Shiro said, kicking the stand out and shutting off the bike. Lance jerked a thumb in the direction of the vending machine and Shiro walked off, tossing Hunk the key fob as he disappeared into the steamy veneer of the wet street. Keith released the breath he was holding in one long puff, sagging back against the concrete and letting his eyes slip closed. He could hear the jingle of Hunk awkwardly playing with the fob.

“...Okay?” Lance breached, after a minute.

“Yeah. Okay.” Keith threw up his hands in surrender. “Okay. Now what?”

Hunk heaved himself and his toolbox up and stepped over the curb. “Now I get into the energy arcs, remove the engines’ safety limits, and we should be good to go.” Lance beat Keith to the punch, crouching down next to Hunk to pass him tools as he lowered himself under the bike’s chassis, and Keith was left unoccupied on the sidewalk, spinning one of the plugs in his ears and trying not to look at the dim silhouette of Shiro lazily swirling his bottled water around way down at the corner. _Talk to him_. Keith scratched at his scalp, gave his plug another twist. Made sure Lance wasn’t looking. Slipped away and followed the rough wall of the building down through the steam billowing up from the manholes until he reached Shiro, hands bunched in his back pockets. Shiro didn’t turn around until Keith gave the hem of his textile jacket a small tug.

“Hm?” The corners of Shiro’s mouth quirked up, voice dipping quiet and low. “What do you need?”

Keith’s words tangled in his throat. He turned away so he wasn’t eye level with Shiro’s collarbone, but didn’t miss the way Shiro’s eyes widened before he managed to speak. “Nothing. I mean. Thanks for lending me your bike.”

Shiro visibly relaxed: shoulders falling, smile widening. “No problem.” Keith reflexively turned his body as Shiro circled around him, pumpkin-orange lycra of his undershirt disappearing around the corner, mercuric drops of him spilling through Keith’s fingers like so much sand. Keith’s mouth fell open, useless, but the red compass needle in his chest still pointed true. He spun back to the street and fumbled savagely for his suppressor pen, loading an injection and unsheathing the needle with a pop. The compass flipped round and Shiro’s metal hand caught his wrist before he could slam it into the flesh of his leg. “What’s this? Not medication.”

“It’s,” Keith gasped as Shiro came into view, without the water bottle he’d been carrying. Shiro thumbed the pen open to view the cartridge. He frowned, presumably because he’d failed to find any label.

“Are you using again?”

“No, it’s just off-market, and I bought in bulk,” Keith insisted, making a half-hearted grab for his pen. Shiro easily moved it out of reach behind his hip. “I haven’t been on synthetics since—” Since. Keith froze and blinked up at Shiro’s calm face. Since he’d met and moved in with Pidge nearly two years ago. But he didn’t think Pidge would have told him something as humiliating as that. Allura certainly wouldn’t have.

_I’m neither surprised nor upset that you don’t remember._ Well, yeah. Keith couldn’t be expected to recall a memory Shiro knew he’d never formed in the first place.

He dropped the hand by Shiro’s side and forced himself to meet his gaze. “It’s not—the same thing.” Shiro’s mouth canted to the side.

“You shouldn’t use the off-market stuff. It’s not safe.” Keith tossed his head, noncommittal. Shiro waited a beat before raising the pen into view, snapping off the needle with a press of his metal thumb and pressing the body of the pen into Keith’s empty palm. Keith felt the heat in his face rise in tandem with his pulse as Shiro squeezed, guiding his fingers closed around it. “Not to mention, you can’t be sure if it really works.”

“That’s true,” murmured Keith, eyes sinking into the contoured expanse of Shiro’s chest. Shiro stepped back to push a shoulder into the wall behind them. Keith took the bait, meandering into the small space he’d created for conversation. ...Right. Conversation. He cleared his throat. “You have a nice bike.”

“You like it?” Shiro squinted over Keith’s head to where Hunk was still working.

Keith didn’t bother looking back. “Yeah. It’s not a common model. And it doesn’t usually come in that color. I think I’ve only ever seen one other white one.”

“It has four arc reactors instead of three,” Shiro said. “It improves the balance, but the added power makes it a little harder to control at high speeds. Though I don’t think that’ll be a problem for you.”

“No,” agreed Keith. “Probably not.”

Shiro angled his chin back down to Keith and shifted his weight, rolling words around on his tongue. Keith could almost taste the mild scent of him from where he was standing in the safe pocket of his shadow. “I’ll give it to you, if you want.”

Keith would want that, did want that, but what to say? Belief hung suspended in the air between them. “...Really?”

“Sure,” shrugged Shiro, keeping it modest. “I don’t need it. And besides.” He sent an unassertive glance in Keith’s direction. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot, lately.”

“Yeah?” Keith felt himself grin, falling against the wall and mirroring Shiro’s position, close enough now that he had to crane his neck to meet his eyes. “What have you been thinking, exactly?”

“That.” Shiro’s ribs expanded with a shivery breath. If Keith didn't know better, he'd say Shiro was just as nervous as he was, or rather had been. “That you're still pretty withdrawn.” Oh. Keith pulled back a bit, crossing his arms. Shiro’s face fell as his shoulders hunched. “What?”

Keith shrugged. “It's not you. Or anyone, I mean.”

“Keith,” Shiro whispered. “I don't presume to know what you're thinking. I'm not a mind reader. Can’t you tell me?” Keith didn’t have the stamina to take a mental step back and reevaluate the emotional boundaries of his comfort zone, not now. Not with a buzz like Shiro in his bloodstream.

“After my dad died and I started grade school,” Keith began, keeping the waver out of his voice, “we had a lot of team activities, you know?”

“Yeah,” Shiro answered. “I remember that kind of stuff.”

“I could never find a group so the teacher would always have to place me. One time some of the kids got so pissed that they were stuck with me that they shoved me down and locked me out of the classroom.” Shiro didn't say anything, so Keith just kept going. “It sounds stupid, I know, but that's the way it's always been. I never used to think I was that bad, but. Work, too. One mistake, one redundancy and I'm the first one to go. It's more than not being anyone's favorite.” He kicked at a pebble on the cement between them. “I always try to remember that's how people feel about me.”

“No one here feels that way about you.” Keith held his air as Shiro grabbed his shoulder. “I don't feel that way about you.” There was something roiling in that, something Keith connected to on a level that made his legs go weak. The butterflies behind his navel were fluttering around again, trying to get out, and Keith couldn't look at Shiro when he was like this. He was too bright. Keith kept his face lowered until Shiro let him go, the raw power in his voice dialed back down. “I don't know anything about your job history, but you don’t seem extroverted to me. In my experience, others tend to think good-looking people are naturally social. If they're quiet, then people think they're stuck-up. Maybe it was the same for you.”

“Sure,” said Keith, cocking an eyebrow. “Except that I'm not good-looking.”

Shiro’s expression was unreadable. “What makes you say that?”

“Don't attractive people tend to get better treatment and service and stuff like that?” Keith scratched at the back of his neck. “I don’t. Plus Pidge says I look the way old french fry grease smells.”

“No,” Shiro laughed. “No. You're very pretty.” He laughed again at the dramatic roll of Keith’s eyes. “What is it now?”

“It's nothing,” Keith snorted, combing his fingers into his hair. “I just think I might finally be comfortable with you.”

“That's…” Shiro’s head tipped to the left, and Keith would be so, _so_ disappointed if he ever saw Shiro look at anyone else like this. “That’s really good.”

Keith cut his eyes back over at where Hunk and Lance were pretending not to be watching them. “So that's mine now, huh?”

“If you win.”

Keith fixed Shiro with his best withering glare. “What do you mean, ‘if’?” Shiro restrained a smirk. “‘If’ nothing. That shit is mine.”

“Okay,” said Shiro with a placating wave. A challenge. So it was like that.

“And now that I have to work for it,” Keith tested, narrowing his eyes, “I'm gonna want some dinner, too. Since I'm winning and all.”

Shiro loudly forced a sigh. “I guess I can do that.”

“I'm in the mood for lobster.”

“What do I look like to you?” Shiro demanded, straightening up and resting a hand on his hip. “Daddy Moneybags?”

“Sure.” Keith gave him a derisive once-over and bit his lip. “If we’re talking Monopoly money.”

“Thin ice, Keith.” Shiro started off toward Hunk and Lance, beckoning Keith after him with a finger. “Thin ice.” Hunk nodded at Shiro as the first horn sounded, waiting until Keith passed to seize him by the arm and whip him around.

“Listen, listen,” Hunk hissed before Keith could protest. “He’s got a full canister of booster fluid on each of the reactors. That’s four, Keith. Not one. Not two. Four, okay? I would have taken them off, but it’s all or nothing, you know, and there’s no time for—”

“Shiro,” Keith called. Hunk sucked his air in between his teeth. “Did you juice the bike?”

Shiro was busy adjusting the stirrups to Keith’s height settings. “Yeah. You wanna win, right?”

“Yeah, win, not die,” Hunk cried. “He’ll accelerate faster than he can steer. I just disabled the safety cutoff, if he activates the turbo boost he’ll torch himself.”

“Unless that was the plan all along,” joked Lance from the other side of the bike.

Shiro just smiled to himself. “He’ll be fine. Come here. It’s time.” Hunk gaped in disbelief as Keith obediently crossed the space between them, allowing Shiro to lift him clear off his feet and onto the saddle of the bike with a quiet grunt of _heavier than you look_. Keith let his feet settle into place as Shiro indicated the locations of each of the controls. Lance sidled away to where Hunk was anxiously fidgeting.

“Hunk,” he said. “I think we missed something important.”

Shiro’s attention remained on Keith. “You got it?” He waited for Keith’s nod to reach under the frame and open the turbo valves a crack. “Go on, then. Turn it on.” Keith slid the triangular fob into place and pressed the start button, suppressing a gasp when the first dregs of booster fluid hit the arcs and the bike lifted nearly a metre into the air with a powerful hum. Oh, _hell_. Shiro’s grin was wicked. “Sexy, right?”

Keith was rather impressed with himself, successfully managing to look Shiro in the eye with his thighs squeezed tight around that incredible vibration. “Very.”

Hunk shifted antsily as Shiro put the hoverbike into neutral and pushed Keith off toward the starting line. “I’m serious, Keith, don’t hit the boost if you can help it!” Keith sent him and Lance a dismissive wave over Shiro’s head rather than acknowledge the warning.

“I thought this was a bike-restricted race,” Shiro commented over the wolf-whistles and calls of _howdy, Texas_ coming from the lines of spectators.

“Nah, the prize is too big. Once it’s over 30 grand they tend to let you ride whatever you want.” Shiro stripped off his textile jacket and reached for his arm. Keith eyed him with faux annoyance as he was dressed in it like a doll, the garment two sizes too big. “Shiro, you’re such a pain.”

“You ride my bike, you wear gear. And a helmet,” stated Shiro, taking said helmet from the back of the seat and fitting it over Keith’s head. Keith raised his chin for Shiro to fiddle with the strap. “And I know you’re having fun ignoring Hunk, but he’s not entirely wrong. Use the manual shift, don’t start off too hard. Ease it in. Just like sex.”

“Can’t relate,” said Keith, bouncing his feet in the stirrups and shaking out his wrists.

“Oh?” Shiro moved around to the front and leaned over the controls to stare up at Keith. “So you’re what they call a cherry boy, then?” And Keith was so caught up in the cream of this, revelling in _finally_ getting what he wanted, finally getting to _play—_ and in a way that Pidge or even Allura wasn’t privy to, at that—that he barely remembered to formulate a response.

“That’s right,” he replied, just a hair late. “Just call me Virgin K.”

“And here I thought we’d already decided on a pet name for you.”

Keith frowned. “What’s that?”

Shiro slammed the helmet’s jawguard down and wiggled Keith’s head by the strap just as the final warning horn blared. “Kitten.” Keith was glad Shiro couldn’t see his blush through the dark tint of the visor. “Guess I’ll have to think of a better one. Don’t crash my bike.”

“As if,” Keith wanted to say, but Shiro was already in the crowd, threading his way over to Hunk and Lance’s new vantage point by the starting line. There were at least twenty other riders in this event, idling into position on either side of Keith one by one until the nuclear growl of the reactor engines was deafening, just the way Keith liked it, the perfect thing to send an electric shiver slicing up his spine. But the atmosphere wasn’t doing it for him, tonight; tonight Keith was submerged—underwater—all sounds and sensations dulled besides the goosebumps that erupted over Keith’s skin when he finally found Shiro’s figure again across the slick pavement.

Shiro’s lips parted, slack at first, then a crescent-moon of a smile, and Keith could see them from here: the stars that always seemed to be revolving in Shiro’s eyes, bright enough to blow out the city lights and all the murky darkness hiding behind them. Keith wondered dreamily where Shiro had stolen those constellations, and how he could make him feel this way with just a look, a scent, the deep musky smell of his jacket and the sweet lime-candy breath still perfuming the padding of his helmet. He didn’t turn away, raising himself up onto the balls of his feet and gripping the handlebars tight. _Watch me_. He could see that Shiro felt it coming, eyes blown wide: _pay attention!_ , and oh, Keith could just shoot him through the heart—

The final signal blared and Keith slammed his heel into the nitrous switch, rocketing off into the city with the afterimage of Shiro’s entranced expression still burning hot before his eyes.

He shifted back down a power level or three once he had a fraction of the lead, doing what little possible to placate the quatrain scream of the engines. The course for this race was hairpin and dangerous, reflecting the size of the pot; Keith would have to lead them up the walls of skyscrapers and the uneven undersides of bridges, weaving around known locations of police activity all the while. Obviously his vehicle wasn’t the only one with enhancements, but he’d set the pace to determine the main competitors already; the four or five racers surrounding him now as they shot toward the moon in a ragged helix were the ones that stood between him and the finish. Keith reached between his legs and downshifted again, throwing his weight into the dive toward the freeway and letting gravity accelerate the arc rotations to conserve his booster fluid reserves. Something exploded behind him at the junction of heaven and earth: someone had hit a support pillar.

It was taking longer to get to the halfway point than Keith had anticipated. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t taking more time, it wasn’t farther than he had thought. Keith was just _impatient_. He was ready to get this over with, circle back to the finish, win this shit and get on with what he really wanted. He flooded the arcs with another shot of fluid—feinted right to shake his tail and sent another rider careening into the bones of the bridge—thought about the face Shiro might make after Keith laid claim to his bike, drove a possessive stake into this small chunk of his history, because that was Keith’s primary motivation for finishing this race, at least right now.

He only remembered the money when an energy blast shrieked past his ear.

Keith heard it whistling in loud and clear, yanking the controls hard and spinning out in the milliseconds he had to dodge the assault. He pulled out of the spin before he hit concrete and had just enough time to see the rider who’d shot at him hurtle into the tunnels, taking his lead and costing him the four subsequent places along with it. Keith was idling at base rotation. This would not stand. Could not stand. The shadow of a thought of Hunk and Shiro—definitely logged on to the spectator server and tracking his movements—flickered into his mind as he opened all four booster valves. _Ease it in_ , his ass. Keith pointed his nose toward the mouth of the underpass and gunned the bike into hyperdrive.

The deciding factor in a race like this wasn’t speed, or at least not in the traditional sense. A rider’s acceleration rate was still important, but the maximum speeds of any jailbroken vehicle were too high for anyone to conceivably achieve in a street race. This wasn’t an open track; there were intersections to weather, obstacles to avoid. That was near impossible at any speed over 250 miles per hour, because the average human only perceived around 45-70 frames per second—or so said the public service announcements meant to deter street races like this one. But Keith wasn’t an average human, was he? He had empirical evidence for that, knew it even before the academy calculated his visual acuity at just under 400 fps with the reflexes to match, a measurement that by all accounts should have guaranteed his admittance, but didn’t. Inhuman. _Exceptional_.

The word meant nothing, yielded nothing, and yet _Shiro_ seemed to think _Keith_ and _exceptional_ were synonymous, else he wouldn’t have strapped this bike with more boost than anyone would even think to use. Keith wasn’t about to let some asshole with a blaster gun take that away from him, no; he was much too wrathful for that, fluting through the underground and howling past said asshole in a matter of seconds. His vindictive _fuck you_ was lost to the wind, and the last readout Keith saw on the digitizer was _797_ miles per hour, exploding out of the tunnels and screaming toward the end of the circuit at _three hundred and fifty-five_ metres every second.

He didn’t remember much of the rest of the race after that, it was too short to be memorable. The next thing Keith registered was the finish line, then Shiro’s silhouette erupting before him in the empty road, growing much too large much too fast—Keith forced the bike into oversteer and drifted in, using a little too much brake in his panic and jerking to a stop at Shiro’s feet as the rest of the riders came in, an eternity behind. Shiro laid a hand on the nose, and the enclosing crowd was so loud, and—where were Hunk and Lance? Whether they were close or not Keith didn’t know. All he could see was the dusky reflection of himself in Shiro’s smiling eyes, and the guiding hand he’d offered him, the hand Keith threw out both arms to take. That smile ran cold; Shiro yanked him down just as another atomic blue shot whistled by his head. Oh, right. The money.

Shiro had gone deathly white with what Keith could only read as fear.

“I told you the prize was too big,” Keith forced, though he couldn’t quite manage a laugh. Shiro turned around without answer to see the rider that had placed second back on two legs, some thick grey brute with a blaster. The same asshole as before. Of fucking course.

“You did that before, didn’t you?” Shiro said, calmly striding toward him. Away from Keith. “You’re going to do it again.”

“Wh,” the rider started. What began as mild surprise quickly turned to alarm; Shiro batted the next shot away with his mechanical hand and grabbed the long barrel of the gun, snapping it off with a sharp twist and raising it fluidly over his head. The metal burned violet hot in his grip, and it dawned on Keith that he had been mistaken. That pallor hadn’t been fear, no. Certainly not.

There was no posturing, there was no blood. There was but one quick, and deliberate, and brutal strike. Shiro crushed the metal in hand and threw it down, puncturing the cement. No question about it now. He was the most dangerous man Keith had ever met, and Keith? Keith wanted to run to him, and be destroyed.

Shiro was gravitating back to Keith before he had a chance to act on that thought, returning to Keith’s side without a superficial glance back at the wreckage of flesh and bone he’d left weeping on the ground. Keith gazed up at him and imagined it was he who’d willed Shiro back, drawing him in natural as the moon attracted the tide. The wobbly needle in his chest hadn’t moved, and yet. Shiro avoided his eyes.

“We should get out of here.” Ah. Lance was there, in Hunk’s car, behind the smooth-skinned alien woman who bore the prize money. This wasn’t the first time things had turned violent, so none of them seemed particularly fazed by this development, but...the crowd. He was right. They should leave. Keith extended a hand to receive the heavy case, then threw it to Hunk through his open window.

Hunk’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “Keith—”

“You take it,” Keith said, climbing back into the saddle and jerking a thumb at Shiro. _Get on_. “Take it home fast and pay off some of that debt. I already got what I want.” Lance grabbed the case with a grin before Hunk could respond and Keith sped off with Shiro at his back, keeping an eye on their car in his rear-view mirror. Hunk turned off his course toward Lance’s place a few blocks later and Keith felt Shiro shift behind him.

“Are they going to be all right with that much cash?”

“They’ll be fine,” Keith replied. “It’s not the first time we’ve done this.”

Shiro nodded in the mirror. “Alright. Where are you taking me?”

“I told you we were getting dinner,” admonished Keith, with a fleeting look at Shiro over his shoulder. “I’m fucking starving.”

“Keith, it’s four in the morning.”

“Then we’re getting breakfast.” He hit the boost, suddenly enough that Shiro had to reach around and grab the horn of the seat for anchorage. “You’re paying for it either way.” Shiro’s defeated laugh melted into a yawn. Keith took that as a signal to drive faster.

*

Shiro looked tired.

Keith could tell he was wearing out before they arrived, but he was really taking a moment now to reevaluate that assessment. The heat he _thought_ he had felt emanating from Shiro at the start of the race had since faded into a dry chill—and how old Shiro really was, Keith couldn’t tell, but whatever the number was he was definitely looking his age, and maybe then some. He chanced another look at Shiro over the electronic menu. He hadn’t said a word since sliding into the opposite seat, opting instead to watch the laden plates on the yellow conveyor belt over the table glide by in silence. Keith decided he’d like to try and warm him back up.

“So,” he said, punching in an order for a beer and pushing Send. “You know Pidge through her brother, right?” Shiro’s body went rigid.

“Yeah.” Shit, shit, he’d said the wrong thing.

Keith coughed and changed tack. “Um. When’s your birthday?”

Shiro’s eyes followed a stack of pancakes past their booth. “February 29th.”

February had already come and gone. Shiro hadn’t celebrated? No, there probably had been a party and Keith had just ignored the invite. He pushed that intrusive thought aside and forged on. “February 29th when?”

“‘76.”

Keith aimed a small smile in Shiro’s direction as a little yellow boat ferried his beer up to their table. “Next year you’ll be 29.” Shiro said nothing. Keith felt his face fall. “...Right?”

“These days are moving too fast,” Shiro mumbled at last, and Keith sank like a stone, letting those words fall into place as a decisive bookend to his failure.

He dropped his face back to the menu. “Do you,” he rasped, wetting his throat with beer. “D-Do you know what you want?” Shiro straightened a bit.

“I’ll take a coffee,” he decided. “Black. And one of these.” Keith watched him nick a plate of french fries off the conveyor. “What are you having?”

“Cheesesteak,” Keith replied, fingers dancing over the screen. “Already put it in. Extra cheese. Stack of blueberry pancakes, fries like you. And the dirtiest hot dog this place has.”

Shiro was suppressing a grin. “Are you really going to eat all that?” He pinched at a bit of air with his thumb and little finger. “You’re like, _this_ big.”

“ _I eat more than you think_ ,” Keith mimicked, channelling Allura though not unkindly. “A little Earthling man like you couldn’t possibly understand.” Shiro nearly shouted. A peal of laughter. Yeah, Keith thought. There we go.

“Tell me another one-sentence story,” he said, as the food started coming in.

Shiro tilted his head. “Like what?”

Keith pointedly sank his teeth into his sandwich. “Have you ever been in love before?” Shiro raised his eyebrows, but not without a smirk.

“That’s a pretty invasive question there, Keith,” he parried, smooth as ever. “I'll tell you that if you tell me how you ended up with such a dismissive-avoidant attachment style.”

“Hey,” Keith rebuked. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze my sexuality.” Shiro hummed in response, taking a clean mug from the belt and filling it with hot java from the boothside tap. Keith had time to down the rest of his beer and most of his sandwich before Shiro spoke again.

“I thought I was, especially the last time. Thought I’d found the most beautiful person in the universe and wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.” He shrugged, immersing himself in his coffee. “But I’ve seen a great deal more beautiful things and people since then.”

Keith lifted the rest of his food along with a refill of his beer from the belt. “Wait, do you-? I mean...Allura?”

“Fuck no,” Shiro cried, as Keith spilled a little bit of his beer. “No, I mean Allura might be up there in the echelons of prettiest people in the universe, but I don’t find her attractive like that.” Keith raised a skeptical eyebrow and Shiro cut his eyes. “You don’t understand. Do you know what she smells like? It’s not bad but it’s not hot, Keith. She smells like chocolate chip cookies and baby powder.”

Keith snorted. “Like she looks, then.”

“She’s going to know you said that,” warned Shiro. “She’ll find out.”

“I hope she does,” said Keith, passing him some of his beer. Shiro had a taste while Keith started in on his pancakes.

“This is shit.”

Keith rolled him a dismissive glance. “It’s all they’ve got.” Shiro slid it back in favor of a fresh cup of coffee, hunching forward over his forearms to witness Keith put away the remainder of his food with a hint of something like admiration shimmering in his face. Keith made it all the way to his third beer before his eyes finally strayed to Shiro’s french fries. Shiro lifted one in the air. A question. Keith opened his mouth in response, closed it once the fry set down on his tongue, and Shiro pushed the rest of the plate over for him to finish, crossing his arms on the glossy tabletop.

“I’m sorry,” he swallowed, as Keith assaulted his fries. “I never wanted to get angry in front of you.”

Keith processed that slowly, finally feeling his alcohol. “You mean...before, with Pidge on the roof—”

“No, I—” Shiro ran his silver hand over the crown of his head. “I wasn’t—angry, then, Keith, I was just—upset, with myself, because Lance said you were going to do that, and I didn’t want to believe him. That’s all.” His fingers tightened in the short dark strands of his hair. “Just...just now, is what I meant.”

“Oh.” Keith rolled his shoulders, tried not to spill his beer again. “That. It’s fine. You’re Terran, he’s not. He started it. Nobody will even care.”

Shiro sighed and let his eyelids slide closed. “That’s still not what I—” The words died in his throat, eyes snapping back to life as Keith pressed the flat of his boot to the lip of the seat between his thighs.

Keith slid his ankle to the right, pushed Shiro’s knees open. “I know what you meant. I’m saying I don’t care.” He held Shiro’s stare. “I’ve seen worse. And even if I hadn’t, you did it for me, so.” Shiro held his breath as Keith widened the space between his knees. “I might have liked it.” Keith was roiling with a new sort of victory as Shiro broke eye contact to watch him retract his leg. If he looked like he was about to say something, he didn’t.

“Okay,” Shiro breathed after a few beats, and Keith had to bite back a self-satisfied smirk.

“Mm.” He grabbed the menu again. “You want some ice cream?”

Shiro emitted a chuckle that went straight to Keith’s nethers. “Sure. I can always go for ass cream.”

“That is not what I said.”

“That’s exactly what you said,” Shiro replied, scooting out of the booth. “I’m headed to the restroom. You get whatever you want.”

Keith pushed over closer before he could go. “Let’s get it somewhere else, then. I know a joint that’s 24-hour.” His head spun with a surge of impulse as Shiro leaned back in to ruffle his hair.

“Whatever you want.”

A silent hand conquested out for Shiro’s back pocket as he turned away, plucking the slim wallet precariously seated there up and away. Keith sat back to flip open his prize. Shiro didn’t carry credit cards, only cash. It was Shiro, so it was probably safe enough, barring pickpockets. The only other things of note were a health insurance card and his driver’s license, which expired next year. Keith pulled that out entirely for a better look at his photo. It wasn’t dissimilar to the headshot he’d seen online, except that Shiro was wearing a simple white shirt here in place of a uniform. He slid the flat of his thumb over the card’s glossy surface, over Shiro’s empty expression and the face lost to memory. Shiro had changed a lot since the date this picture was taken. Keith didn’t feel like he had managed to change much at all, at least not for the better. But maybe—

Shiro’s footsteps fell into earshot and Keith stashed the wallet inside his new oversized textile jacket.

“Keith,” he was saying, patting at his empty pockets. “I didn’t...I didn’t leave my wallet on the table, did I?”

Keith raised both eyebrows after another gulp of beer. “Dunno. Did you?” Shiro was staring. “What?”

“You have one chance.” Shiro’s eyes were twinkling with ominous intent. “Give it back. Before I take it.”

_Ruin me_ , Keith thought, hoping he didn’t look as breathless as he felt. “As if you could.” Shiro put one foot firmly into the booth and slammed the privacy shutter closed behind him. Keith had barely time to crab backward before Shiro was on top of the seat, pinching Keith’s nose closed with his human hand and driving him kicking and screaming down against the vinyl. Keith shrieked in delight as he was mercilessly tickled.

“Brat!” Shiro puffed, reaching around inside the jacket and yanking out the wallet while Keith helplessly grabbed at his face. “You are such a brat!” Keith had been sure he’d let up after he retrieved his stolen property, but Shiro only put both hands to use to tickle him even harder.

“Shiro, please,” he begged, through tears. “Please!” The torment ended in an instant. Dizzily, Keith sat up to find Shiro still seated on his side of the booth, casually checking the contents of his wallet with one ankle crossed over his knee. Keith pulled his legs up onto the seat and let himself fall forward, pretending to catch himself on Shiro’s elbow. Shiro rolled his eyes.

“I should push you off,” he said, smiling despite himself.

Keith pressed a cheek into his shoulder. “You’re in a good mood.”

“You put me in a good mood,” Shiro answered, simply. “I also got what I want.” He looked way too put together, way too clean, and _shit_ , Keith just...just wanted to _mess him up_.

He squeezed Shiro’s solid, solid arm. “Do you always get what you want?”

“No.” Shiro snapped his wallet shut and resolutely placed it on the countertop. “I don’t. And it’s better that way.”

“I want to give you what you want.”

Shiro’s head slowly, belatedly rose as one of Keith’s arms snaked around him. “...What?”

“You don’t pay nearly enough attention to me,” Keith whispered, pulling himself closer. “I know you like me. I’m your favorite, aren’t I? I’ll give you—give you whatever, I’ll even let you put a hurting on me if that’s what you want, let you do it right here in front of God and everybody if you, if you just—”

Shiro tore away from his touch, ripped his hands off his body just before Keith could finish that thought, just before Keith could get his mouth against the corner of those lips.

“You’re—fuck, Keith, how did you get this drunk?!” Keith’s blood stilled, hands hanging limp in Shiro’s grip like a marionette. Shiro didn’t move, either, and it was unbearably quiet for a long moment in which Keith could say nothing, do nothing as his sky-high spirits hit the earth, brought down heavy with not only the unmistakable weight of humiliation but especially that _piteous_ look on Shiro’s face.

Keith yanked his hands free and vaulted over him, running haphazard out of the restaurant and away from the faint sound of Shiro cursing and throwing money down on the table. He was quicker than Keith had hoped; Shiro was outside shouting for him to stop before he even reached the street corner, but Keith ignored him, tracking a course for the wide crosswalk before the walk signal could change from green to red. Keith got one foot in the street before Shiro all but tackled him, wrenching him backward onto the sidewalk and away from the street entirely.

Keith fought him hard, kicked and scratched in the unbreakable prison of his hold, but it was no good—Shiro had him clutched tight under his chin and he wouldn’t let go, or at least didn’t, until Keith heard the thrum of rotator engines, distantly and then all at once as the riders of another street race blew through the enormous intersection at their backs, zig-zagging through the empty space Keith would have occupied, had Shiro been even a few seconds late. Keith came down from his surprise to slowly discern the heat of Shiro’s heaving chest against his back, the heavy press of a cheek in his hair. Shiro’s arms had loosened around his waist. He screwed up his resolve and all the anger he could muster and tore himself free, whirling on Shiro who by now looked positively exhausted, especially in the harsh light of the streetlamp directly overhead. Keith forced down a sharp pang of deja vu.

“Fight me,” he said, with a weak shove at Shiro’s chest.

Shiro closed his eyes for a long moment. “No.” Keith came for him anyway, bringing a hand up to strike another, stronger blow, but Shiro caught him by the wrist before it could connect, twisting his arm outward and drawing Keith in. “Keith, I said no.” His fingers might have been carved from marble, if they weren’t so warm. Keith stubbornly wanted to struggle, but he knew that if he did, Shiro would let him go.

“What are you doing?!” he demanded, instead. “Why did you push me away?”

“You’re drunk,” stated Shiro, voice drawn taut.

“Not that drunk,” Keith protested. “And even if I was, so what? Isn’t this what you wanted? You even asked if I was seeing anyone, didn’t you?”

Shiro’s brows came together. “No. Who told you that?”

“Pidge,” said Keith. “And Allura, kind of, she made it seem like you would!”

“Maybe you should try talking to me instead of about me,” Shiro hit back, hackles raising. “You sure haven’t tried much of that yet. You never even really look at me.”

“Yes I do,” Keith snapped.

Shiro’s grip tightened around his forearm. “But do you _really_ look? Do you really see?” And Keith had to face him, then, had to look Shiro in the eye and acknowledge that persistent fluttering in his chest, the flower blooming in his throat and his feelings for Shiro that were gathering on its petals like dew. Feelings that there was no moving past.

He swallowed hard. “What are you doing to me?” Shiro lowered their arms.

“I can’t tell you that,” he sighed. “I don’t know myself.”

“You’re a shit liar, Shiro.”

Shiro frowned at that. “I’ve never lied to you.”

“You’re lying right now.” Keith’s voice wobbled precariously. “You’re doing something, you’re—is this a test or something? First you’re ignoring me, then you’re not. Then you’re good to me, _really_ good to me, butter me up until I can’t tell north from south and then I—I just try to give you what I think you want and you don’t want it at all, and-! And what do you even think of me, Shiro, how can you treat me like this?!”

“No, I-!” Shiro stepped back as if to escape the unforgiving glare of the light, but didn’t let go of his wrist. “I-I’m sorry, Keith, I’m not trying to play with your head or lead you on, I just. I don’t know what to do, around you. I’m never sure if you want me around or not, and...you deserve to feel safe in the environment that you work, not the object of unwanted attention from someone like me.”

Keith dropped his eyes to where their arms were still connected, squeezing the knuckles on his free hand white. “I want you around.” Shiro’s flickering shadow was still visible from under his bangs. “I don’t know. I feel like I still don't know anything about you, and you just feel so...transient, Shiro. I look at you, and I get the feeling that I'm never going to see you again.” Shiro was silent too long, so Keith took the initiative, tugging him back in and slipping his wrist from Shiro’s grasp. Keith savored the longing whimper he drew from Shiro when he pressed a thumb into his palm, loosely locking their fingers together.

“I should apologize again,” Shiro breathed as Keith closed the rest of the distance between them, sinking down to touch his forehead to Keith’s. “It was a nice night and I’ve ruined it twice now.”

“No,” Keith said. “I ruined it.” The splash of platinum in Shiro’s fringe was blindingly white. Keith closed his eyes against it and reached for Shiro’s other, mechanical hand, guiding it up over his waist. _Here_. Shiro tightened his grip on Keith’s hip, breath still rich with the faint scent of lime.

“You still want to know what I think of you?” Keith shivered. Nodded. “I think I’ve never met anyone as impossible as you. You are so good at everything you do, with absolutely zero self-awareness. I think you’re touch-starved, and emotionally bankrupt, and _perfect_ , and Keith, for you—” Shiro squeezed his fingers, made him gasp. “I want to be the man that you deserve. I want to be the kind of man that takes his time. And I just don’t know if I can do that anymore.”

Eyes still closed, Keith ran his fingertips up the smooth facade of Shiro’s arm, over his shoulder, through the short bristles of his sideburns. “If that’s what you’ve been doing, I think you can give it a rest.” Shiro made a pained noise.

“Please let me kiss you.”

“Anywhere you want,” Keith moaned, and Shiro claimed the remaining space between their faces without an inch’s hesitation, tilting up Keith’s chin and igniting him with the singular touch of his lips.

Yes. _Fire_ , the spark of creation, _fire_ which annihilated and denatured and and gifted new life from charred remains. He was a conflagration, and Shiro his precious air, lips silken and flawless in the crease of his own—Keith urged his fingers into the short hair at Shiro’s nape, and Shiro’s silver hand drifted up to the small of his back, changing the alchemy of the bare skin underneath, layering it with gold. He could feel the wheel of fortune turning under his feet, taste the dharma on Shiro’s lips, and in that moment he couldn’t say what he wanted to be to Shiro; whether a lover or a disciple, what it meant to be either one, whether the two were one and the same. Keith felt them separate with a quiet _pop_ , took the slightest of moments to find his balance, find the sparkle of a tear in Shiro’s eyes, find himself succumbing once more to potent vertigo.

Shiro kissed him again, and Keith burned to ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And I haven't seen you since last winter break, and I know that you hate how that went._  
>  But always such a smart one, always so intelligent, you must know what's happening.  
>   
> [bonus character design for keith is on my art blog at this link.](http://marinoxx.tumblr.com/post/165477711865/but-shiro-never-picked-up-virgin-k-has-been)  
> 


	4. red dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> keith has had a theme song since chapter one and now is as good a time as ever to [share it.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lUfunQW84U)
> 
> kampai.

Shiro insisted on driving the two of them back to Pidge’s apartment. Keith did say it wasn't necessary, told him he wasn't _that_ drunk, but he wouldn't budge. Keith found that he didn't mind the back all that much, if he was wrapped around Shiro’s waist. If only Shiro would drive up. He slowed down every time Keith told him to go faster. _Safety first_. What a tease.

_There’s so many things I want to tell you_ , he’d said, as Keith pulled him down into another, easy kiss. _So much I want to talk about with you and only you_.

_I wish you’d tell me_ , Keith tried, quietly in case Pidge was awake.

But. _No_. Shiro unlocked the door for him, held it open. _I don’t want to frighten you again_.

Keith doubted the chances of that, wondered how malleable Shiro might be if he could get him inside, but Shiro didn’t want to come in. And so Keith had to be content with watching him leave from the north window, drumming his fingers against the sill as Shiro’s figure slowly grew smaller and farther away. He made a little extra room in his blanket-nest that morning, wedging his spare pillow into the space before burrowing in. Keith couldn’t help a tiny, half-satisfied growl as he squeezed his surrogate tight before sliding backward into the waters of sleep. He dreamed of another chrysalis, and of Shiro, murky and out-of-focus beyond the increasingly fragile shell. Shiro asked what Keith would become, at the tail end of his metamorphosis. Keith told him he wished he knew.

That had been over a week ago. Shiro hadn’t called since.

Keith was in an entirely new sort of pain.

He rose from his seat at the counter, leaving his half-eaten sandwich where it lay to retreat to his bedroom. Pidge paid him no mind until he flopped down on the carpet with a thud.

“Keith,” she called, slowly. “Are you okay?”

“‘M fine,” Keith mumbled, reaching up for his communicator on the bedside table. He activated the interface with a swipe and first selected Shiro’s name in his contacts list, then Compose New Message.

_Dick_.

He hit Send. Shiro rang him back in less than a minute.

“I am no such thing.” Keith could clearly hear the grin in his voice.

“I can hear you smiling.” Shiro was holding in a laugh, now. Well, Keith figured he could sense his pout. “I texted you to chew you out, how am I going to do that if you keep laughing at me?”

“Sorry.” Shiro composed himself, mostly. “Go ahead. Bite my head off.”

Keith dragged his nails through the fibers of the carpet. “It’s been like nine days. Shouldn’t you have called, or something?” He rolled onto his side, pulled his knees up to his stomach. “...Dick.”

“Keith, baby.” And now he was blushing. “I’m off-planet. The signal’s patchy. Didn’t Pidge tell you?”

“You talked to Pidge but not me?” Keith demanded, not caring if his jealousy was showing.

Shiro was smiling at him through the phone again. “It was in the morning, after I dropped you home. You were sleeping. I told her to let you know I was out of town.” The _scritch, scritch_ of Shiro scratching his head drifted over the line. “I did kind of yell at her before that, though. Guess I can see how she might have forgotten.”

“What, for making up stories about you?” Shiro hummed in confirmation. Keith looked down at his knees, kicked his feet a little. “Still, we… we went on a date. You could have texted.”

“Date? What date? You mean the other night?” Keith nodded at the Shiro he was picturing in his head. The real one knew what he was doing, somehow. “That wasn’t—you can’t just decide things like that on your own!” Shiro’s laughter broke free. “I wouldn’t have thought we were on a date, not sitting in a cheap diner at damn near five in the morning.”

Keith glared a hole into his bedpost. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Mm.” Shiro paused. “I’ll take you on a date, if you want.” His tone pitched dark and rough the way it had so many times before, just the way Keith liked it, but this time he was finally able to put two and two together: that was the sound of active, open seduction, whether Shiro knew he was doing it or not.

Keith suppressed a moan, toes catching in the carpet. “...When?”

“Allura said she’d be calling everyone in to plan another job in a couple days,” Shiro replied. “I’ll be back by then. Do you want to get coffee with me afterward?”

“I hate coffee,” tossed Keith, running tongue over teeth.

“No, you don’t.”

“You’re right.” Keith wiggled in place and wished Shiro was there to see it. “I don’t.”

Shiro hummed again. “Forward me your ID and drop by my place before the meeting. I’ll add you to the system so you can let yourself in. We’ll go together.”

“Okay,” Keith exhaled.

“Okay.” Shiro went quiet. “...I have to go.”

“Shiro-! One more thing,” Keith stumbled. “When you spoke to Pidge, did you…?”

Shiro was biting his lip, he just _knew_ it. “I did not. Why, did you want me to tell her about our relationship?” And Keith’s toes were flexing all over again, because God, they had a _relationship_.

“No,” he said at long last.

Shiro’s voice dropped for the second time. “See you later, kitten.”

“See you,” Keith whispered. Shiro hung up and he flipped face-first into the carpet.

*

“Keith,” called Pidge from the living room, craning her neck to eye Keith’s reflection in the bathroom mirror. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, just,” Keith rearranged his bangs, “combing my hair.”

Pidge moved her computer to see him better. “Is that—is that my brush you’re using?”

“It might be.”

“You never use a brush,” Pidge ruminated. “And I’ve never seen you...wear that shirt before, what the hell?”

Keith stepped out of her field of vision to swap out his tunnels. “I have clothes you haven’t seen. It’s not new or anything.”

“No,” Pidge said. “You’re preening. You’re preening your little feathers and you don’t want me to know why, but I know you. I can guess.”

“Bet you can’t, ‘cause I’m not preening,” Keith countered, squeezing farther into the bathroom as she leaned farther over.

By now Pidge was wearing a self-satisfied smirk. “All right, where are you going, then? Why can’t I go with you over to Allura’s place? How come I have to ride with Hunk and Lance?”

“I told you I’m going to the supermarket.”

“Uh huh. You sure you’re not. Meeting up with Shiro without me? In _private_?”

Keith marched out of the bathroom and past her judgmental glare to fetch the orange juice from the refrigerator. “I might run into him on the way back.”

“You are so full of shit,” Pidge giggled as he took a long gulp straight from the carton. “I love it.”

“How’s that going, anyway?” Keith gestured at her laptop, tethered to the bulky alien drive sitting pretty on the rug in a swath of neon cables. “You making any progress?”

Pidge sighed and picked it back up. “I guess so. I can locate basically anything Allura wants her hands on now that the encryption’s broken, that’s how we’ve been planning these last few jobs. But this thing wasn’t private sector. It has access to a number of Alliance servers, too, if only I could break in.”

“It’s the Alliance, it’s not going to be easy,” Keith pointed out. “What are you hoping to find?”

She shrugged. “Information on what happened to my family, if it’s there. Shiro said they died in an accident when their shuttle was apprehended, but…I just want to see the report for myself.”

“Their shuttle?” Keith repeated. “You told me they worked together, are you saying they were on the same ship?”

“Yeah,” said Pidge, eyes huge and owlish behind her glasses. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Keith mused, returning the orange juice to the fridge. “Maybe I forgot. Guess it doesn’t matter either way. I’ve gotta run.”

“Make sure you don’t turn up suspiciously late,” Pidge teased, making kissy noises at him until the front door slammed closed. Keith pointedly ignored her fish lips as he passed the window.

The pin Shiro had sent him was only a few blocks southeast of their apartment. Keith hadn’t realized Shiro lived within walking distance. It was close enough that he might think it surprising that they hadn’t met sooner, if he didn’t know Shiro spent most of his time on Allura’s side of town. Keith arrived outside the complex—a new build—around twenty minutes later, trying not to look out of place walking up to the guest buzzer just beyond the automatic doors at the entrance. He glanced back at the expensive mailboxes across the foyer as the screening system activated. There were no names next to the apartment numbers, but over half of the mail slots were taped over. Most of this building was unoccupied.

_State your name clearly into the receiver_ , enunciated a vaguely female computerized voice.

Keith leaned in a bit closer to the metal box. “Keith Doe.” A small hourglass appeared on the inlaid display as the system cross-referenced his voice data against public record, then scrolled through a list of tenant numbers and their corresponding guest lists until his name was illuminated under unit 1012. The inner door unlocked and Keith was free to make his way upstairs. Shiro had promised to give Keith full access in his text message, so he would endure one more facial scan from the secondary screening sensor just below the bell before the door clicked open. Keith silently decided not to comment on the ridiculous security of the place as he let himself into the apartment.

It was dark inside with all the curtains drawn. Shiro’s trainers were tucked in beside a shoe cupboard in the entryway, toes pointed toward the door. Keith carefully toed his own shoes off, hesitant to come any further inside. The lock chinked closed at his back. “Shiro?” No answer. Keith dithered there a moment more, letting his eyes fully adjust to the change in lighting. He couldn’t call this place cozy, or even lived in; the grey walls were bare, surfaces and floors devoid of decoration. Two stainless steel stools sat under the kitchen countertop; those had definitely come with the apartment. There was a narrow loveseat in the center of the living room, facing a nook cut into the wall where a television was meant to be. A lone, dusty sunbeam cut across the glass-topped coffee table at the foot of the chair, drawing Keith’s eyes to the toppled amber whiskey bottle abandoned there. Less than a mouthful remained, spare a few drops glimmering on the table. Keith cautiously stepped forward to peer into the kitchen, finding nothing there but a jar of hard candy.

“Shiro?” he tried again, with the same response. Sensing no movement, Keith crept past the kitchen and into the dark hall, pushing open doors left ajar. A half-bath with nothing but a hand towel and a bottle of soap. The bare laundry closet. An empty room—no, almost empty. A cardboard box lay in the corner, beside a small safe. Keith finally heard something stir as he reached the bedroom at the end of the hallway and choked down a cry of relief at finding Shiro there, passed out on the bed in his street clothes with the thin blanket kicked to the floor.

“Keith,” he slurred, and Keith started toward him, ready to climb into that bed and _burn_ again, but Shiro’s eyes didn’t open. Keith stopped short at the door, having learned to be wary of startling him in his sleep. Shiro spoke again, fingers catching in the sheet. “Stay here. _Keith_. Stay here where it’s safe.”

Uncomfortable, Keith pushed one arm behind him, fumbling for the anchorage of the doorframe and moving backward until he’d half-hidden himself behind the wall. Shiro’s breath harshened just as he rapped his knuckles loud against the hinge. “Shiro.” Shiro awoke with a start and bolted upright, head whipping round and metal fist raised to fend off some invisible enemy, but there was none. There was only Keith, still waiting patiently behind the doorframe. Shiro lowered his arm for a moment, then raised it again, clutching at his head as he winced and fell back into bed. Keith went to him, gingerly sitting on the edge of the mattress and tugging open the blinds over the headboard. Shiro groaned as sunlight flooded inside.

“Good morning,” said Keith, placing a soothing hand on his chest. Shiro covered it with his own, pressing it firmly into the rumpled material of his shirt and squinting blearily up at Keith’s face.

“I can’t fully appreciate it with this killer hangover,” he sighed, “but you are just as gorgeous as the day I saw you.”

Keith couldn’t restrain a smile. “It’s half past noon.”

“Is it?” Shiro asked, stretching their hands up over his head and rolling Keith over his side into the center of the bed. Keith got comfortable as Shiro reached up and ran a hand through the snow-white patch of hair that Keith could _swear_ had snuck a little farther back toward the crown of his head. Ah. He’d been caught staring. “What?”

“Nothing.” Keith made a sweeping motion at the sparse room. “Are you moving?”

Shiro shook his piebald head. “Why, you want me to?” Keith didn’t know quite how to respond to that, so he went for a kiss instead, one long overdue. Shiro blocked it with two fingers. “You don’t want to do that. My mouth tastes like battery acid.” He pressed his lips flat against Keith’s cheek. Chaste. “Hold off until I get my hands on some toothpaste, and maybe breakfast after that.”

Keith let Shiro nudge him onto his back and kiss his other cheek, let Shiro’s weight cover his body, then sulked a little when Shiro pushed off, sun visor switching on as he moved into direct sunlight. He propped himself up on his elbows to watch Shiro head for the shower in the attached bathroom. “What’s for breakfast?”

“A protein shake and some Pedialyte,” Shiro announced, stripping off his shirt without closing the door. “Breakfast of champions.”

“You know I can see you, right,” warned Keith as Shiro reached for his fly.

“I don’t mind if you look at my ass.” Wow. Okay. Keith didn’t think he had the nerve for voyeurism. He hopped up before Shiro’s pants dropped and wandered back into the kitchen, hoping to make Shiro something substantial to eat before he finished up in the bathroom. At a loss, Keith opened the pantry to find some food and was met with a sea of empty liquor bottles instead.

He tried another cabinet, then another, finding the same; front-to-back meticulously arranged rows upon rows of shining glass. Keith took a step back and closed the door, careful not to jostle anything and send the entire affair shattering to the ground. He might have paid closer attention when Pidge said Shiro wasn’t a morning person, looked a little closer for the spots where his laborious varnish was chipping away. It didn’t matter now. It wasn’t worth tripping over his disillusionment. Keith was missing a few pieces himself, but he could bear parting with several or more. Whatever the number of his shards, Shiro seemed to have fewer.

Keith settled on raiding the meagre contents of the fridge and had himself a Pedialyte.

Shiro emerged from the shower a short while later, coming out to fix his breakfast in nothing but a pinstriped towel. Keith raised a purposeful eyebrow at him as he opened what was likely the only cupboard not filled with recycling and pulled out a glass, followed by a sizable jar of protein powder. Shiro ruffled air into his damp hair as he stirred, the tinkle of the metal spoon in the glass the only sound in the space until Keith spoke. “Forgoing your clothes today?”

“I know you’re waiting on me,” Shiro replied.

Keith folded his arms, leaning more heavily against the granite countertop. “You still have to get dressed before we can leave.”

“You’re waiting on me to greet you properly,” amended Shiro, placing the spoon in the sink and offering an inviting palm. Keith pretended to think about it before meandering over, letting Shiro curl the fingers of that hand into the hair behind his ear and draw him in for a true, toothpaste-flavored kiss, nose filling with the clean, masculine scent of musk and no-frills bar soap. Keith was overeager despite himself, desperate for another feel of the soft pillow of that mouth, but Shiro wouldn’t be hurried. He worked out Keith’s furious rhythm, met him there and guided him down, waited until Keith was suitably pacified to ease his lips open and deepen the kiss.

Keith was dizzy over how easily Shiro handled him, how good it felt being pressed flush from head to toe, how all the recessed lights in the kitchen were spinning and how he really needed to find his feet. Shiro broke away to brush the hair from Keith’s eyes, tickled the tips of their noses together, and Keith couldn’t remember when his eyelids had slipped closed or how his arms had ended up around Shiro’s neck, nor how long it had been since he last remembered to breathe. It was all but overwhelming, his skin was singing with it—the unadulterated glory of this fractured man and the sleeping god in his chest, the one Keith had seen all that time ago in the mirror of his eyes.

“I missed you,” Shiro whispered, and the measure was set. Keith succumbed to this new religion, any language all but vanished from his lungs. He would surrender to this, be the sundial to Shiro’s yellow star, and if that meant relinquishing all control and allowing Shiro to strip away the transformative walls of his childhood? Keith didn’t care what he became. Not if he could have this.

He let himself luxuriate there in Shiro’s arms for a minute before rushing forward again, forward and _up into that mouth_. “You’ll miss me again. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Careful, pussycat,” Shiro chuckled, welcoming him back. “Watch that addictive personality.”

“I’m not the one who needs to watch out, considering how the crosshairs are trained on you.”

Shiro maneuvered him back down and Keith’s forearms slid apart over his broad shoulders. “Are you real? I mean, I think you’re real, but.” Keith knew he should let Shiro break them apart, knew clinging to him like this was emotionally irresponsible, but he didn’t care. He wanted to weave magic the way Shiro did, wanted to feel _powerful_. “I can’t be entirely sure. You might be just a beautiful hallucination.”

“Oh, I’m no hallucination,” Keith said, catching Shiro’s enormous hands as they lifted and placing them on either side of his neck. “I’ve got all the fixings.”

“Do you?” bantered Shiro, still taking Keith too lightly for his liking. “I like that.”

Keith pressed on. “Do you have a favorite?”

“Well,” Shiro mused, “Right now I like your toothy mouth. I can tell you’re a biter from the way you’ve been scraping at me with your teeth.” He thumbed at the elastic around Keith’s throat. “And I suppose I like this choker you’re wearing. You have a nice neck.”

“It’s a hairband, not a necklace,” Keith corrected. “Go on.”

“I—” Shiro paused as an exploratory finger blazed a glissando over his naked ribs and hesitantly looked Keith in the eye. Keith stared back, expectant. Shiro’s gaze strayed down to his lips, then lower still. “If I’m being completely honest...I like your thighs. Your legs. And the thing behind them.”

“The thing behind them?” echoed Keith, coaxing Shiro’s feet apart with a stocking foot to stand between his knees.

“Yeah,” Shiro affirmed, fingers absently tracing shapes over the curves of Keith’s neck. “And that...waist, it’s so little, I…” He bit his tongue. “I bet I could almost fit my hands around it.”

Keith smiled, pushing his hips against Shiro’s through his thick towel. “Wanna try?” He took Shiro’s hands from his neck, brought them down to the narrowest part of his waist, slipped them up under his shirt. Shiro kneaded his skin in experiment before encircling him, straightening his thumbs and compressing the flesh with a tentative squeeze. His fingertips touched.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shiro moaned, yanking Keith over and slamming him into the counter. Keith scratched at his chest, keeping up the encouragement even as a full five fingers claimed the closest globe of his ass and parting his lips as soon as Shiro’s tongue requested entry. Shiro’s kisses were hot and messy—he was swiping into Keith’s mouth one moment, nipping at his lips the next. The hand on his ass moved in indulgent caresses, and every action was a petition: _let me. Let me_.

“Take it,” Keith mouthed into his kiss. “Take me.” Shiro’s free hand shot up to the clasp at the nape of his collar.

“I couldn't give a damn about the past or the future,” Shiro averred, taking hold of the zipper and tearing it down his back. “I’m the luckiest man that’s ever lived.” Shiro’s bionic grip materialized in his hair and Keith didn’t fight it when his head was wrenched back, shirt pulled down to expose the entirety of his neck and chest. Shiro’s mouth was on him in an instant, grazing, _sucking_. Keith’s body moved of its own accord, seeking more contact. There. Shiro’s growing erection pressed emphatic into his stomach, towel made redundant.

Keith seized the hem to rip the thing off and inadvertently shocked Shiro out of his short-lived flow state.

“No,” he murmured suddenly, grabbing Keith’s wrist with resolve and arranging his shirt back into place over his shoulders. “No, you are a veritable _incubus_ and you've already figured out how to push my buttons but this is—no.” Keith pinched down a sly smile as Shiro cupped his face, kissed back up to his mouth. “Right now I’m going to take the coldest shower of my life. After that we are _leaving,_ and _then,_ after the meeting we’re already late to, you and I are going out for _coffee_ like respectable people do.” He pressed his lips to Keith’s one last time. _And that's final._ “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Keith vibrated, and Shiro pulled out of his loose embrace, leaving a disheveled Keith half-dressed in front of the stove. But that was okay. He’d taught him something; given Keith his first lesson on what it felt like to be wanted, desired; shown Keith the physical effect he had the power to incur, made him feel positively _sorcerous_. Keith might have been a bit embarrassed at it all, if Shiro wasn’t the only person he’d ever known that was capable of making him act this way, or want the things he did. Keith knew something else, somehow: no one else ever would.

He zipped himself up and heard Shiro hiss as the water turned on. Couldn’t blame him. That water was freezing cold.

Shiro was back a short while later to finish his breakfast and wipe up the coffee table, rinsing out the empty whiskey bottle and turning it upside down to drain in the bottom of the kitchen sink, then turned to Keith and used his artificial fingers to comb his mussed hair back into place. Keith nuzzled into the contact, only opening his eyes again when the hand in his hair moved away, reappearing around his own fingers with an enthusing squeeze. Shiro smiled warmly and held up his car keys with a playful jangle.

“Ready?”

*

“Well, now that we’re all _finally_ settled,” Allura enunciated with a disparaging glare in their direction, “I think it’s safe to start getting down to business.” Keith couldn’t do anything but try not to look sheepish. After all, they did arrive, well... _suspiciously_ late.

Shiro evidently wasn’t so easy to shame, innocuously cleaning his fingernails under the heavy weight of Pidge’s knowing stare. Hunk, on Shiro’s blind side, contorted his mouth in confusion. Lance waggled his eyebrows and jerked a thumb at Keith before diving into a grotesque and messy simulation of oral sex. Shiro noticed the murderous expression on Keith’s face and traced his line of sight back to Lance, who only bobbed his head with increased fury. Keith had never seen anyone so thoroughly and speechlessly scandalized.

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Allura shouted over Pidge crying with laughter at Shiro’s gaping mouth. “That is _offensive_ to _all_ parties!”

“Oh, come on, princess,” endeavored Lance, straightening up. “Live a little.”

“I will have nothing so indecent happening in my home,” Allura ordained, dimming the lights. “Regardless of whatever sexual activities may—” she stumbled here at Shiro slamming a hand into the seat of the couch, “—or _may not_ be occurring between any team members currently present. Now if you don’t mind, I would like to start explaining the roles all of us will need to play in relation to our next assignment.” She activated the holographic map in the center of her living room that by now they were all familiar with. “There will be three teams, one to tackle security and two running recovery.” Her voice grew rigid as she scrolled through the map. “This is an enormous containment facility miles outside the city and security is tight, so we’re going to have to be at peak efficiency. Coran will remain here on-planet as backup just in case anything goes wrong.”

Lance groaned. “Why do these things just keep getting harder and harder?”

“Because they’ve cottoned on,” said Shiro. “Besides, this one is on you. We’re going after the lenses that were moved after your stunt last year. We could have had them already, if that hadn’t happened.”

“Should you really be complaining about that?” Pidge asked, with an alluding nod at Keith. Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose and didn’t comment further.

“In _any_ case.” Allura side-stepped the couch and came nearer to the center of their group. “Shiro is half correct. We are aiming to retrieve the teludav lenses, yes, but we’re also hoping to lift access codes from the server located in this facility that we can use to locate the targets of our final jobs.”

The words escaped before Keith could stop them. “Final jobs?” Neither Shiro nor Allura christened that with a response.

“Pidge can remotely disable the anti-personnel weaponry outside,” Allura said, highlighting a point in the building. “Hunk, you’ll need to go in after that and manually shut down the internal sensors. The security hub is on the northeastern side, on the first floor. We have three blasters now thanks to Coran, so Lance will take one to cover you. Keep the system down for the entirety of the time we’re inside. You’ll also need to adjust the power supply to different sections of building while we—”

“W-Wait, anti-personnel weaponry?” stammered Hunk, wringing his hands. “What—what kind of place is this? This sounds really risky?”

“I know you can do it,” Allura eased. “Don’t worry. Lance will be with you the entire time.”

Lance gave Hunk’s back a hearty slap. “I got your back, big guy.” Hunk looked only marginally reassured, but Allura waited for him to nod in acceptance before continuing on to address a different area of the building.

“I’ll take a blaster and personally accompany Pidge to the server room on the third floor to guard her while she works. As for the lenses—” Allura reset the display to encompass the entirety of the facility. “In addition to the sentries you’ve become accustomed to, there are living guards patrolling this place that we must avoid at all costs. The lenses are in a containment unit on the southwestern corner of the fourth floor. Keith, you’ll need to travel through the guts of the building to access the unit. Shiro will take the last blaster and protect you until you enter the air ducts, then join Pidge and I to secure us inside the server room, and finally collect you from the elevator shaft on the north wall. We’ll regroup at the server room and then meet Lance and Hunk back at the entry...”

She trailed off as Shiro adjusted the three-dimensional map, adding colored tags to the security hub and server room before centering the display at the point Keith was planned to enter the duct system. He glanced back and forth across the map. “Have you already tracked a path for him? Through the building.”

Allura sighed and brought up the predetermined route, highlighted in red. “This is the fastest path. If he enters on the ground floor, he has a direct path up to the fourth. The duct cuts short at heart of the facility where some of the lab work is done, but there are support beams here and here that he can cross to re-enter the system on the other side. He’ll retrieve the lenses and take a direct route to the elevator shaft, over here. I don’t expect there should be any significant delays, considering this path avoids most if not all of the foot security.”

“Allura,” said Shiro, slowly as if speaking to a child. “That is _incredibly_ dangerous.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t have me do anything too treacherous,” Keith dismissed, though he kept his voice low.

“You don’t understand,” Shiro stressed. “If I’m reading this map right, these beams in the center are narrow, held close to the ceiling, and stretch almost 650 feet. The air ducts aren’t meant to support the weight of a human being, they’re—what, two feet wide? And—Allura, how is he supposed to get down from the fourth floor inside the elevator shaft, anyway?”

“He’ll jump down, of course,” Allura retorted, as if it were common sense.

“What then, I catch him?!”

“That would be the fastest way, yes.”

“No, it—” Shiro gripped Keith’s hand, hard. “Allura, I’m telling you now, it won’t go the way you think it will. It _won’t._ ” And Allura looked at Shiro, then—long and hard, searching his expression. He waited—everyone waited, having never seen the two halves of their spearhead disagree.

She looked away with finality and sat down on the couch beside Lance. “No, you don’t really know that. You’re saying you do, but you don’t. I know better than you do what Keith is capable of. I’m not concerned.”

Pidge cut in there. “Wouldn’t it be better for someone else to do it? If the ducts are that small, wouldn’t I be a better choice? Or Lance, even, he has a slimmer build than Keith. You could hack the codes yourself, or Keith could watch Hunk’s back instead. Besides, a smaller person would be easier for Shiro to catch on the way back down.”

“You’re overlooking an important detail,” said Allura, lifting a compact, conference-style communicator from the coffee table. “Keith is the only one qualified to do this job because he’s the only one I can guarantee Shiro _will not drop_.” She switched it on and entered the passcode. “That’s why he’s worried and I’m not.”

“Keith,” Shiro quietly appealed. “She can’t force you to do anything you don’t agree to.” Keith looked from Shiro to Allura, who met him with a hard gaze, then back to Shiro again.

“It’s alright,” he decided, trying his hand at a consoling smile. “You’ll catch me. I know you will.” Shiro visibly deflated, rolling his jaw before turning away entirely to spin the gunmetal ring on his finger. Keith hoped he wouldn’t have cause to regret this choice.

“Excellent,” Allura lauded, placing the communicator back down on the table and beginning a call. “Now then. Let’s discuss exactly why it’s so important that we stay out of sight.” The device rang three times before the line connected.

“Princess,” Coran cheerfully greeted. “How are you doing? Fine, I trust?”

“We’re doing well, Coran.” Allura nodded as she spoke. “Is Kolivan onboard? I’d like him to explain something.”

“Just a moment,” said Coran, and the line went silent. A gravelly voice scratched through a minute later.”

“Yes. This is Kolivan.”

Allura smiled brightly. “Kolivan, this is Allura. The Earthlings are here learning the details of our next assignment, the one Coran should have informed you about. I’d like you to tell us why we don’t engage unfriendly Galra in combat.”

“Of course,” Kolivan droned. “The first thing to understand is that my people are much larger than the average Terran. Our bones are too dense for your bullets and our size lends us strength. In addition, due to evolutionary differences, Galra are apt to take lethal measures rather than immobilizing ones, as opposed to Terrans who instinctively shy away from death and tend to do the opposite. It is for these reasons that we recommend you do not engage.”

“Thank you, Kolivan,” said Allura.

“What I fail to understand,” Kolivan continued, “is why you did not ask Shiro to relay this information. He knows this well. Is he not there?” Shiro frowned at the number of inquisitive eyes gathering on his face and put pressure on Keith’s hand again, keeping their fingers out of sight behind one of the pillows on Allura’s couch. Keith squeezed back, glad for both the cover and the fact that they both liked to keep things relatively private.

“He is,” Allura admitted, “but I wanted them to hear it from you.”

“Anyone could have said it and I’d be second-guessing my choices the exact same way I’m doing right now,” Hunk lamented.

Lance scooted toward the communicator with interest. “I dunno, man, I could go for a great big alien girlfriend. How about it, Kolivan? You know any Galra ladies on the market?”

Kolivan responded immediately, oblivious to every other person in the room rolling their eyes in perfect sync. “I would advise against that. Our race is sexually dimorphic in a manner that differs from yours, and as a rule, we mate for life.”

Pidge’s eyebrows came together despite herself. “Differs how? Are you saying there are more than two sexes, or…?”

“Physical and sexual maturity in Galra are discrete processes that begin and end relatively independent of one another,” Kolivan deadpanned. “As for the mating process that signifies the start of sexual maturation, the average Terran would find a Galra female hostile and...unpleasant.” He paused. “If you were patient enough, you would eventually find your mate to be possessive and prone to aggression regardless of sex. As I’ve said, Shiro should know this well. If the records are correct, it was a similarly mature male Galra who tore off his arm. Fortunate. If it had been a woman, he'd likely have died.” Keith didn't miss the grimace indicating that Lance had been sufficiently turned off.

“Don’t you have things to do, Kolivan?” Shiro broke in, irritation apparent on his face. Keith linked their little fingers together on impulse and watched Shiro’s aggravation evaporate, replaced with whatever emotion had cause to turn the apples of his cheeks a dusky pink.

“Shiro.” Kolivan seemed unaffected by the slight. “...Yes. I see. Until our next communication, then.” The line went dead.

“What a guy,” Hunk said as Allura shut off the dial tone.

She shrugged. “They’re all like that. But it’s nurture, not nature.” The map fizzled away and a wave of her hand brought the lights back up. “We have over a month before this operation, so let’s wrap it up for now and regroup later in the week to begin preparations and go over the finer details.” Lance and Hunk jumped up and migrated to the kitchen to raid her fridge with Pidge at their heels. Shiro pulled Keith up as he moved to his feet, only to be stopped by Allura before the two of them could pass. “Not you. I want you to leave for the ship again tonight.”

“Why?” There was no anger in Shiro’s question, only disbelief. “I’ve barely been back two days.”

Allura’s eyes flickered over Keith. “I want you to help Coran and Kolivan. With...reconnaissance.”

“Do they really need his help?” Keith wanted to know. Allura’s face went stony. There was something unspoken happening here, and he was picking at the scab, but it didn’t matter if it meant Shiro would stay. He couldn’t understand Allura’s frigidity, either, or the way she was currently glaring him down—it was almost as if she saw him as a threat.

Seconds passed. Allura had no intention of answering him.

“Fine,” said Shiro, resignedly. “But at present, we have plans.” Keith managed to lock eyes with Pidge and received a small, surprised wave as he was hauled by the elbow toward the front door. Shiro didn’t speak until after they arrived at the car, reaching over to the passenger side and fastening Keith’s seatbelt for him before turning the engine on. “I’m sorry. I have to drop you home after this.”

“She knows, right?” Shiro nodded and Keith crossed his arms. “I’d have thought she’d be happier about it from the way she’s been teasing me all this time.”

Shiro opened the glove compartment to extract a handful of hard candy. Keith unlocked his arms and Shiro transferred all but one into the basket of his hands, removing the paper with his teeth as he maneuvered them out of the parking bay and into the sky. His other hand slid under the wheel and all Keith could think about was how much he liked watching Shiro drive. “You confused amusement for excitement. She thought you were cute, but it’s not funny anymore.”

Keith was content to roll the remaining candy between his fingers and lose himself in his own foggy head for the remainder of the drive, barely registering the upscale cafe they arrived at or the unobtrusive beep of the ID scanner as they crossed through the glass doors. He told Shiro to order for him and only touched back down to reality once their drinks came and he saw Shiro reaching for his wallet. “It’s okay,” he interjected. “I can pay this time.”

“No,” Shiro smiled, passing cash to the curly-haired waitress (an actual waitress? This really was a nice place). “I know you like it when I dote on you.” The woman leaned down suddenly as she accepted payment, brought her mouth close to Shiro’s ear. The words were whispered but Keith could read them on her lips.

_You can do better._

Keith reached for his coffee and pretended he hadn’t heard anything or seen Shiro’s wide eyes, just in case, but Shiro clapped back faster than he expected. “What is that supposed to be, some sort of fucked-up attempt at flirting with me?” The waitress said nothing, just shot them a dirty look over her shoulder as she walked away. Shiro whirled back around. “Did you _hear that?_ ”

“Sort of,” Keith mumbled, into his mug.

“Some people are just unpleasant,” Shiro intoned, cracking his knuckles before taking up his own drink. “I used to say there’s never a good reason to be rude but I sure have been finding a lot of them recently. It’s the reason Allura doesn’t like leaving her house. You know the two of us went for tacos one weekend and someone had the gall to spit in her hair?”

“Why the hell would anyone do that?” Keith said, feeling defensive secondhand. “She’s so...pretty.” Allura wasn't the exotic, fear-inducing type of extraterrestrial that he might expect to raise ire.

Shiro sighed. “Yeah, but she has those ears, and that white hair, and...you can tell, right away. _People_ can tell. I don’t blame her for not wanting to deal with it, or for wanting to go home.”

...Right. Home. Keith didn’t care to pull that particular thread. “Where did this happen, anyway?”

“Down south a ways, not far. Maybe an hour or two.”

“You go down south often?”

“Only if you promise to kiss me afterward,” Shiro replied from behind the lip of his mug. Keith nearly spat a mouthful of coffee across the table. Shiro’s eyes were glittering. Adoration bubbled its way up Keith’s throat.

“Tell me something,” he coughed, setting down his cup. “Tell me how you ended up with that nickname. Why does everyone call you Shiro?”

“Takashi is an old man name. I hate it,” said Shiro, seriously. “My mother was the only one who ever called me that.”

“You could always change it.”

Shiro shook his head immediately. “I can't dishonor her like that. My name is...” he paused to think for a moment. “The first and most important gift she ever gave me. I’ve had it from birth. It doesn't matter how I feel, it's something she wanted me to have, and I don't have much left of her, so. I wouldn't change it for the world.” Keith watched him tip his coffee back and forth in his mug. “Yeah. It's mine. And I'd prefer not to have it shouted at me on a daily basis, though I’d still let you do it, if you want.” He sent a mischievous wink Keith’s way. “I won’t get mad.”

“Noted,” was all Keith could say in response. He’d thought this morning that he had already reached the zenith in terms of affection he could feel for this man, but now they were alone again, Shiro’s attention and interest turned full force on him in the dim, cozy corner of this coffee shop, and God, if Keith wasn’t _feeling_ for him: crossing his ankles like a nervous teenager, wanting to be held. It was all he could do not to get up and climb over into Shiro’s lap.

Shiro had the heel of a hand under his chin. “...You don’t have to answer this, if you don’t want to.”

Keith tilted his head and tried to look open, something he admittedly had little practice at doing. “What?”

“How do you know Pidge?” Shiro met his eyes straight on. “I know it’s pretty late for this question, but how exactly did you end up as roommates?”

That wasn't such a hard question. Keith reached for the remainder of his coffee. “I met her through Lance after we started working together. I didn't have anyplace to live at the time and I didn't know he was bringing her around, so when they showed up at the alley I was shacking up in I was strung out face-down in a pile of trash or something.”

“Or something?” Shiro parroted.

“Well, that's what Lance said, after I woke up.” He nodded and Keith drained his cup. “You’d think she’d be too freaked out to even talk to me after something like that, but then she said I could stay with her until I figured something out. Maybe she was just lonely since her brother passed.” He shrugged. “Now it's been two years.”

“Pidge is a good person,” Shiro said, “but now I want to know how you ended up in the trash to begin with.”

“You and me both,” muttered Keith.

“That’s not what I mean.” Shiro closed his hands around his coffee, running his thumbs over the warm ceramic. “Sorry that none of these are particularly light questions, but where did you tie your horse? If I know anything about you, I know that you wouldn’t have come all the way out here from rattlesnake country unless you were riding on something. And I know that between the time that you arrived and the time that Lance and Pidge found you in the trash, that something must have fallen through. You’re not the type to end up in a place like that otherwise. Am I right?”

Keith tossed his head, reluctant to accept that Shiro found him that easy to read. “No, you’re right.”

“Can you tell me what it was?”

“I.” He looked down into his empty mug, wishing there were a convenient way out of the conversation. “Didn’t want to mention it to you because it’s embarrassing, but I took the aptitude screening for the aerospace institute coming out of high school. They offered me a scholarship, so I blew my savings to move out here and run through the official exam, but.”

Shiro blinked. “You didn’t get in?”

“No, I got in,” Keith insisted. “They sent the admittance paperwork to the sharehouse I was staying at. I went in to finish the forms and they started all the finalization procedures for the fighter track. They had me do the eye test and everything. I remember they had to redo my picture a hundred times because there was some weird golden red-eye effect from the flash. Then I get another paper in the mail saying I was rejected, and when I call they say I’m not allowed to reapply.”

“What was your score?” Shiro asked, with a troubled expression.

“593.”

“And they didn’t let you in with a score like that?!” Shiro was a bit louder than appropriate for such a quiet cafe. “That makes no sense. They would have forced you through even if you bombed the physical exam and strength qualification. It’s too much potential.”

“Yeah, well,” Keith clipped, “I’m tired of having potential.” Shiro dropped his head back into his hand and stretched his long legs out toward Keith’s side of the table. Keith let their ankles touch, lining the sole of his other shoe up with Shiro’s and pressing into the ball of his foot. “Do I get to ask what you did during all those years at the academy?”

“I was an exploration pilot,” Shiro answered, worming a heel into Keith’s other foot. “Learned how to navigate from one arm of the galaxy to the other. When I finished with that I entered a research specialization, and went to work in the lab with Pidge’s brother, Matt, and Dr. Holt.”

Keith was too ticklish and had to yank his foot away. “What was your specialization?”

“High-energy physics and quantum theory,” said Shiro.

Keith found himself heaving a sigh. “Can you explain what that entails in three sentences or less?”

“No.”

The sigh turned into a grimace. “Five sentences?”

“All right, you’re a smart boy, so just listen,” Shiro supplicated, reaching over and taking one of Keith’s hands from his cup and covering it with both of his own. “What we want to know is the bottom line when it comes to the nature of reality. When we measure sub-atomic particles and get readings in the form of waves, is it that those particles are surfing on those waves, or are they made of waves themselves?” He turned Keith’s hand over, balled it into a fist, balanced it on his palm. “What are the waves, if not energy? It might be that they’re just information, or representative of something else entirely. We know that these waves have something to do with the probabilities of locations particles might have, should we choose to observe them. And, we can say that on some level all of those locations are equally valid, at least until we measure them and see where they actually are or what they’ve actually done.

If you want to look at this through a practical lens, consider that all these microparticles are what constitute a macrosystem like Keith. In our hypothetical scenario, let’s say Keith might get up from this table and leave me here to spout my nonsense, or maybe he chooses to stay, or maybe he’ll do neither and fall asleep instead, because he’s bored. All are possible, some more probable than others, but I can’t know which it is until he actually chooses to do it—at which point there is something to be said for the other possibilities.”

“And what is that?” Keith prompted.

Shiro turned their palms skyward. “Say you choose to stay. When you happened to choose to stay, you could say that nullified all your other options, which would be intuitive in our classical world. But maybe when you chose to stay, your choice split our timeline, and we just happen to be in the one where you made the decision you did. Or maybe it’s kind of both, and there were always multiple realities in which you made a separate one of your choices, and again we just happen to be living in this one where you were always going to do what you did.”

Keith flipped his hands over to weave their fingers together. “So which is it?”

“The last interpretation is the closest,” Shiro returned, smiling Keith’s favorite smile, “although these outcomes might be conditional on the macroscopic level. That’s what the Holts and I travelled out to prove, to a location in deep space where it was safe to carry out such an experiment.”

“But how do you know that interpretation is the right one?” Keith wanted to know. Shiro’s smile atrophied a bit.

“Because I knew,” was the answer. “We all knew. And that’s the only reason I’m alive right now, because not a single species has entirely figured this out yet. And the only reason we’re doing what we’re doing here is because Allura’s tech, _Altean_ tech, has come the closest to the answer, otherwise the device that creates wormholes on her ship wouldn’t exist. It just so happens that this particular Galra syndicate is extremely invested in replicating that tech, because if you can understand the fabric of our universe, you can begin to manipulate it.”

Keith thought on that for a minute. “Does all of this have anything to do with how Allura does what she does?”

“I,” managed Shiro, shoulders shaking, “have no idea.”

“But she knew I’d come around to you.”

“Yes,” Shiro conceded.

“But she’s not omniscient. She can only sense things that you already know yourself.”

“Yes again.”

“Then that means that she only knew that I’d like you because _you_ knew,” Keith digested. “So how’d you know I would like you? You had to have been sure.”

“You liked me before,” said Shiro. “Why wouldn’t you like me again?”

Of course Keith had to contest that. “Well, how did you know that I liked you the first time?”

Shiro’s smile grew again, small and secretive. “You said so.”

A serene silence sprouted in the warm, fertile space between their faces after that, over their empty and long-cold coffee cups and under the gentle expression that Shiro wore, staring out at the twinkling city lights that switched on one by one. It was getting dark, and this was coming to an end, but Keith wasn’t ready to relinquish the hold he had on Shiro, or the paper-thin stillness he felt emanating from their still-linked hands. A young couple chattered by the window and Shiro exhaled, smooth breath cresting against the window like smoke.

“You’re thinking something,” Keith inserted, after a few more moments. “What is it?”

“You really want to know?” Shiro asked, equally soft.

“Yeah.”

Shiro took another, languid breath before turning back to Keith. “Do you think some people are meant for each other?”

“Why, is that on your list of things you want to talk with me about?” Keith didn’t hold back a snort at the nod he received in reply. “I get this long spiel about how everything is determined by waves and little particles and then you turn around and ask me a question like that?” The look Shiro gave him clearly meant that he was serious, so Keith settled forward on his elbows to construct a truthful answer. “I don’t know, maybe. Not everyone, for sure.”

He felt Shiro squeeze the hands he still held captive. “Keith. How long have you known me?”

Keith brought his shoulders up to his ears, dropped them again. “That I know of, six months. Or damn near.”

“How much time do you think should pass before we can be honest about my feelings?”

“I always want to know your feelings,” Keith breathed, awaiting Shiro’s next words. His mouth opened after a beat, and syllables came spilling out, but.

Keith didn’t move immediately, rewinding and reprocessing the sounds, because Shiro couldn’t have said what that sounded like, no matter what letters Keith had watched form on his lips. He glanced back up. Shiro’s face confirmed what he’d heard.

“No,” he decided, reeling his hands back in. Shiro held fast before he could drag the left one away.

“I _do_ ,” swore Shiro, silver fingers pleading for purchase on his wrist. “Unquestionably.”

“Shiro,” Keith begged in kind, shaking his head, trying to reason with him. “You can’t _say that_. This is our first date.”

“Keith, listen to me.” Shiro coaxed his hand back in, closer and closer to his heart. “I cannot find a single flaw in you.” Closer still. “I could spend decades writing about just your skin. The way your pulse flutters when I kiss it, the lavender-rose color of your lips. The lines on your palms, the ones between your eyebrows when you frown, they are—literal branches, of the tree of life. You would lynch me from them and I would exalt you with my dying breath, you are a symphony in a single note, Keith, you _have_ to understand.”

“I don’t,” Keith said, helplessly.

“Just try,” Shiro said, imploring. “You need to know this before you let me kiss you again, before you try to seduce me again, so you know how we stand. And the way I _want_ to kiss you, I can't do it without talking to you about this.” He let go of his wrist with his living hand, and Keith didn’t know why he lowered his face into the fingers that sought his cheek, obediently turned into Shiro’s commanding and attentive touch.

His entire body was buzzing, heart beating fast. When he spoke, it was thoughtless and bitter. “You shouldn’t. I mean it. You _could_ do better, you really could.”

Shiro’s thumb tickled the shell of his ear. “Even if that were true, it wouldn't change a thing.” _Shiro_. “You, plus me. It's something good. I know it is, or could be. It could be good for you, too, if you’ll have it.” Keith was so out of his depth.

He let the cheek that fell against Shiro’s forearm buoy him back to the surface. The air that hit his throat was bone-dry. “I’m sorry, I.” He swallowed hard, diaphragm stuttering. “I've never had to learn how to be anybody’s lover, before.”

“Then don't be anybody’s lover,” Shiro murmured, lifting Keith’s hand and touching his lips to the inside of his wrist. “Just be mine.”

Keith closed his eyes. “Do that again.” Shiro kissed him a second time, and a third, until he had made his way down to Keith's relaxed fingertips. Keith skimmed them down over his square chin and the vulnerable slope of his neck, savoring the small point of contact and the unspoken power his words held over the person under his fingertips. He imagined them sinking in, melting together, becoming part of the _same being_ , and Keith had to smother a moan—he liked that. Keith _wanted_ that.

Dissolving into Shiro was the most erotic thought Keith had ever had.

Carefully, as though he knew Keith’s thoughts, Shiro leaned in, obeying the demanding thumb pressed into his lower lip. “Come on, Texas,” he said, voice as rough and mournful as the hand he used to guide Keith’s away. “It's time to take you home.”

*

The next few weeks passed quickly.

Keith couldn’t say he wasn’t kept busy. Rehearsing the steps of the operation and helping the others prepare a comprehensive map of the building’s foot security routes filled no insignificant fraction of his time. What did get under his skin was Pidge’s incessant teasing. She’d noticed the marked decline in Keith’s mood when Shiro wasn’t present, and Lance was starting to join in on the fun. At least Hunk could focus on the tasks at hand with some smattering of decorum.

Also aggravated by recent events was Lance’s lonely heart. He’d bitch to anyone who’d listen about Allura’s lack of interest, and it was true. The harder he tried, the less likely she was to bat so much as an eyelash in his direction. _Well_ , said Keith, feeling rather sagely in light of his budding affair, _maybe she would like you more if you weren’t such a tryhard._

Lance didn’t look very happy to hear that, but it worked to shut him up. Keith couldn’t be too defensive, seeing as the amount of time he himself had been spending with Allura as of late was the likely precursor to Lance’s sudden bout of self-consciousness.

It wasn’t as if he could exactly say no when Allura called him round while Shiro was away, but he wouldn’t want to, anyway; he’d make her a grilled cheese and in exchange she would teach him how to pilot the little space pod, and about the inner workings of her gigantic ship. Keith remembered his and Shiro’s conversation about Allura not going out much and took it upon himself to carry her back to Pidge’s apartment for takeout and rented movies. She didn’t seem to mind the downgrade in accommodations, happily sharing Pidge’s bed and putting little braids in Keith’s hair if he fell asleep on the couch. Keith split the mass of her hair with Pidge and returned the favor. Allura was the only one who liked him more when Shiro wasn’t around.

And when Shiro came back, in the periods of downtime that Allura didn’t have him suspiciously busy? Keith left home late at night, used the keycard he was given to let himself into Shiro’s apartment, and waited there until he arrived. Shiro expected him from the start and never failed to bring Keith some sort of astral souvenir, be it a bit of Altean food off the ship or a shard of debris from Saturn’s rings. Keith brought a bit of his own clutter to furnish the apartment in return, throwing spare quilts over the negative space on the bed and loveseat. It didn’t really matter in the end that Shiro’s place was eerily barren, or brimming with the uncomfortable evidence of alcohol abuse (though Keith never saw Shiro drink at home). Nothing mattered except that Shiro was _there_ , and if he wasn’t there he would be soon—breezing through the door, scooping Keith up; balancing him on his knee; talking about all that had transpired while he was away and welcoming Keith into his life anew. Keith came to feel rather naked, dispossessed of the familiar idolatry in Shiro’s soft eyes, and to hate going home to his lonely, crowded bed.

It was inevitable that there was learning to be done on both sides, of course, and in more ways than one. Shiro began slow, taught him some override codes and how to use a blaster gun, but it wasn’t long before Keith was staring down a dusty stack of Shiro’s old textbooks. Shiro cracked the first one open with a sigh. Allura wanted him to learn about celestial bodies, their classifications, what effects their compositions had on different types of spacecraft. Keith didn’t understand why she thought he, who had never left the atmosphere, would be any more helpful with that type of knowledge, but if it meant she would let Shiro stay longer he wouldn’t argue. He didn’t complain once, not even when he received _assigned reading_ for the first time in his adult life.

(Needless to say, Keith always did his homework. Shiro wouldn’t let him have any fun if he didn’t.)

Invested as he was, Shiro himself was much more enthralling than any lesson on astrophysics. Keith paid close attention to the presets on the Shiro’s wall radio (lo-fi and old rock), to the sort of things that made him smile especially wide (the lingering remnants of Keith’s southern drawl), to what colors suited him best (most of them). Shiro said he didn’t care for ‘performative romance,’ something Keith took to mean that he shouldn’t expect any flowers or chocolate on the next national holiday, and while it was too bad about the chocolate, he would gladly exchange it for something else that was _equally sweet_.

Unfortunately for that train of thought, Shiro had far more experience when it came to pacing new relationships, and didn’t hesitate to vocalize his opinion on any premature play: _Look, you can fuck around with my neck and ears all you want, but we are_ not _having sex._

Fine. Keith could take care of these sudden urges himself, trusting Shiro to set a comfortable pace that left room for exceptions where exceptions were due. He made it clear he wanted to be touched and was readily obliged, to the point that Shiro was now having some difficulty keeping his hands to himself as the night of the assignment approached.

It was all part of Keith’s new pastime, arriving unbidden at Shiro’s apartment to find him lounging around on his sofa in a crisp pair of slacks, half tuned into the radio, half engrossed in a book. Keith had padded in and squeezed himself into the remaining cushion space, settling his head on Shiro’s shoulder and an arm across his chest, demanding his attention with the slow and deliberate caress of a knee between his thighs. Turning Shiro on turned _Keith_ on; witnessing the hopeless way Shiro tried to conceal his attraction only made him want to try harder even if Shiro would never yield. And Keith knew that Shiro, for his part, had been on the same page for a while, just the same as he knew about the erection Shiro had tucked into his waistband ever since Keith had started playing with the buttons on his shirt.

Shiro put the book down to stroke a thumb down the erogenous zone at the back of Keith’s neck, the one that instantly turned him agreeable and pliant. _Let’s take a nap, honey._ And Keith flagged down just the way Shiro knew he would, willingly curling in for the kiss Shiro placed on his forehead. His mouth moved across Keith’s skin like a safety net, in unobtrusive rhythm with the radio still humming about a woman facing freedom with just _a little fear. I have no fear_ , Shiro’s lips promised. _I have only love._

_And if I was a child, and the child was enough, enough for me to love? Enough to love..._

Shiro, _Shiro, please_. Keith couldn’t stop clutching him. Keith had been smiling so long his face hurt. _Please, never let me go._

The night eventually came, and.

“Pidge,” Allura called from the front of the pod. “Have you knocked the sensors on the eastern wall out yet?”

“Soon,” she answered, looking flustered. The rear seats had all been folded down to accommodate four backseat passengers in addition to Pidge’s equipment. Keith didn’t have a clear view of her laptop screen over Hunk’s shoulder, and couldn’t see much else beside Allura’s dark grey hands on the controls and a bit of Lance’s slim frame in the shotgun seat. Keith still couldn’t believe she could change her coloring at will. No one should have that many powers.

Shiro’s fingers weaved into the spaces between his own as he uncrossed his legs to check the fasteners on the holster strapped to his thigh. Keith breathed a sigh of relief at the grounding pressure, grateful for something to distract him from the waves of stress Hunk was shedding like hair. Nor did it help that Shiro had been deathly silent since departing Allura’s apartment half an hour ago. Yeah. That was doing _nothing_ for team morale.

The air in the pod had since turned hot and thick by the time Pidge’s head finally snapped up. “Done.” Allura wasted no time in confirming the pod’s stealth function was operational before maneuvering them in close to the building and allowing the five of them to disembark. She slid out of the pilot’s seat and the vehicle shot off, ready to return in an instant at her call.

“All right,” said Allura, snapping her visor into place as Shiro wedged his metal hand into the doorframe and snapped the bolt in two. “As mentioned, this is not something that can take a lot of time. Remember your roles and remember what we’ve coordinated. Stay in touch, report your position if it changes and we’ll be just fine.”

“Come on, buddy,” Lance chirped, leading the way through the open door. Shiro had Keith tight in one hand and blaster in the other, decidedly keeping himself between Keith and whatever danger might be ahead and checking their surroundings on the digitizer for guards or sentries from the time the two of them split off from Allura and Pidge until the second they arrived at Keith’s entry point into the air ducts. Momentarily tasked with watching his back, Keith took the opportunity to wind his arms around Shiro’s torso as he reached up and fluidly yanked out the grate. He had expected a gentle scolding for the distraction, but none came. A finger hit the mute on his helmet, retracted the eyeshield, and Shiro’s mouth was on him before Keith had time to process his surprise.

“What?” he whispered, between kisses. Shiro only held him closer. He was looking for reassurance, or maybe comfort, but of what sort, Keith wasn’t sure. He let himself be surrounded and manipulated like a toy in lieu of an answer, cravenly allowing Shiro to bend him any way he liked. Shiro pressed his face to the crook of Keith’s neck and inhaled deeply, taking in a possessive lungful of his own scent as Keith spread both palms over his shoulder blades. The black compression shirt Keith was wearing was one of his.

It wasn’t like Shiro to be so uncaring of time restraints. Nervously, Keith tried again. “What is it?”

Shiro let his ghost-white hair fall against Keith’s forehead, tightened the arms around his middle. The breath that shook free from his throat tasted like chocolate. “Do you love me?”

It wasn’t a demand, of course. Keith knew Shiro to be an honest man, when he wasn’t telling white lies. Yes. Shiro was a virtuous man, an _equitable_ man —one who wouldn’t burden Keith with expectations as laden and consequential as that, and one who knew well enough what would happen if he did. And Keith, well. He knew a spade when he saw one, knew it bore no pressure, no intent; the only obligation he had to Shiro was to be honest in kind, or at least to try. And so Keith closed his hands around either side of Shiro’s face, kissed him firmly, and spoke his natural truth.

“No.”

A smile, against his cheek. Cold, filtered air soon replaced its warmth as Keith was lifted toward the mouth of the ventilation system.

“Remember to stay out of sight,” urged Shiro, passing Keith his backpack. “Galra are hard to kill. Don’t try.”

_I know_ , Keith mentally transmitted, punctuating his fond sarcasm with a roll of his eyes. Shiro grabbed his ankle before he could disappear into the wall.

“Come back to me safe,” he sought. “Promise.”

“Promise,” Keith agreed, and then he was off into the narrow innards of the facility, the scrape of the grate grinding back into place serving as his only other farewell.

It wasn’t so hard, all things considered. Sure, the vents rocked a bit as he climbed up, but they were sturdy enough that he didn’t shake them loose, or fall through. Shiro reached the server room as Keith was running hand-to-foot across the rafters of the cavernous laboratory.

“I have Black,” Allura announced over the intercom. “Red, what’s your location?”

“Almost there,” Keith grunted. “I’m in the lab.”

Hunk sounded in. “All the lights are off, right? I mean, I thought I cut the lights, but if I’m not over there I can’t really be sure—”

“Relax, they’re off,” reassured Keith, squeezing back into the ducts. “You know your stuff. Don’t think it would have mattered, though. Nobody was in there.”

“Nearly done on this end,” Pidge offered. “Might be heading over to Blue and Yellow a bit early.” Keith acknowledged the update and muted himself as he passed a squealing fan. The lenses were supposed to be in a containment unit larger than but not unlike the one he and Lance had stumbled upon during the winter. Luckily, it was atmosphere-controlled, meaning ventilated, and it was simple enough for Keith to drop a line into the small room and throw the individually mounted lenses into his backpack while Hunk killed the power to the motion sensors behind the security door. He’d already climbed back up into the ceiling and started back toward the lab when Shiro patched through from the security hub with the others.

“Red,” he hailed. “Go to channel two.”

“Hey,” Keith answered, once he’d switched over. “What’s wrong?”

Shiro sounded the way honey tasted. “Nothing. You almost done, cherry pie?”

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith hissed despite the tingly way his body was reacting. “Aren’t you all in the same room? Everyone can _hear you_.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you know these things have active voice cancellation,” Shiro said. “What, you don’t like cherries? That’s too bad. But you know what?” His voice dropped flirtatiously low as Keith exited the steel shaft. “I think you’d make a cute pumpkin.”

“Shiro, shut the fuck up,” Keith begged. “I’m in the lab again, you’re gonna make me fall.”

Shiro laughed. “All right, I’m heading over now. See you in a bit.” There was a hint of static when he changed back over to the first channel, and Keith was struck for a moment how easy this had been relative to the stakes, and how quiet the entire facility seemed. Allura had planned this well; he didn’t think any one of the group had laid eyes on even a single guard. Keith couldn’t help a smile as he leaned forward into the elevator shaft and saw Shiro waiting for him at the bottom, doors already closed behind him as an extra precaution. And despite all of his earlier apprehension, Keith would be damned if he couldn’t hear Shiro smiling too. “I’m here. Can you see me?”

Keith flipped on the small light on his helmet and Shiro sent him a thumbs up. “I see you. Are you ready?”

“I’m always ready for you.”

“Well, ready or not,” Keith chuckled. It would be a quick affair: Shiro’s arms would come up, Keith would check his trajectory, and he’d be in freefall. And that was how it went, or would have gone, if the elevator hadn’t started moving while Keith was in midair. A cable hooked his foot and sent him cartwheeling toward the wall. Keith twisted his body, tried to reorient—

The back of his head smashed into a support beam and after that there was nothing at all.

_No_. There was Shiro. Always, there was Shiro. And Shiro had him.

Keith felt ground under his feet and opened his eyes to see his legs splayed out before him. Shiro was hovering above him, swimming in and out of focus, and Keith’s helmet was off his head. Keith squinted. There it was, next to him. The back was caved in. Shiro had been right about the voice cancellation, for what it was worth; Keith couldn’t see or hear a word he said, but that was Shiro’s voice coming from the helmet, filtering in through the unbearable ringing in his ears. He lifted a hand to one ear as if to stifle the noise and felt something wet. Shiro was rocking him, Keith realized, his hold delicate yet frantic, and over the intercom he could hear his voice repeating the same thing: _Oh, God. Oh, God._

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hunk was pleading, under Shiro. “There must be a remote reset switch somewhere outside this hub, someone flipped it and got all the systems back online, I’m sorry, I—I just killed the elevators again but—”

“What happened?” Allura shouted over all of them. “ _What happened?_ ”

“He’s down, I,” Shiro shook his head, the words tumbling off his tongue like water over river rocks. “I don’t know what else to say, he’s hurt. He hit his head, it’s bad.” Keith dragged his sticky fingers into his blurry vision and experienced a shocking lack of concern upon finding them red. Shiro’s grip dug deep into his shoulders and even in this state Keith could see him screwing himself up, forcing his pieces back into place under his familiar, tightly-wound control. “...It’s bad.”

Lance was as serious as he’d ever been. “I’m coming. Now.”

“No,” Shiro directed before Allura had a chance to say otherwise. “All of you need to stay together. Yellow, get the internal sensors back down and tell me when you’ve done it. After that, everyone needs to follow White back out to the endpoint. Leave Red to me. I’ll meet you outside.”

Allura was quiet, but only for a second. “All right. We’ll be waiting for you.”

Shiro picked up Keith’s helmet and punched the dent back into shape before carefully ladling it back on over his head. Feeling a ray of clarity, Keith fumbled for his arm, but misjudged the depth. His legs felt like gelatin. “Shiro.”

“It’s all right, baby,” Shiro quieted, using his mechanical arm to lift him under the knees and arranging his arms around his neck. “I’ll get you out. No matter what, I’ll get you out, but I need a free arm, all right? I need you to support yourself, can you do it?” Keith could do that. “Hold onto me tight.”

“All security systems are—they’re down for now,” Hunk gasped. Shiro forced the elevator doors open and took off running for the east wall, strides hardly hampered at all despite carrying Keith the way he was. Keith’s eyes had all but slipped closed against Shiro’s neck when an alarm blared. Whatever systems Hunk had cut power to, they weren’t down anymore. Keith was feeling so impossibly serene.

Shiro skidded to a halt. “Barricade.”

“What?” Allura said.

“Barricade,” Shiro repeated, staring dumbly at the steel security fencing drawn across the hallway. Keith took it in like a breath of mountain air. “They’ve got a barricade up, they know someone’s over here. Next, a sentry... _sentry_.” Shiro whirled and fired the blaster into the metal head of a sentry just rounding the corner. “Allura, it’s today. It’s _now_.”

“But K—,” she scrambled, “but you told me Red said—”

“He lied.” Shiro glanced down at Keith’s glassy eyes. “Easy as that.”

“This—this is all my fault.” Allura’s footsteps resounded over the comm. The others must have been muted so she could concentrate on listening to the surroundings on Shiro’s end. “I never should have listened to Coran when he suggested pairing the two of you together. I should have listened to _you_ , when you didn't want to do this in the first place, I—”

“Don't do that,” Shiro interrupted, keeping the muzzle of the blaster pointed in the direction the sentry had arrived from. “We both know you didn't have a hand in this. Which way should I be heading?”

She took a deep breath. “Keep going east, for now. If not east, then north. We’re almost outside, if you can make it to an exit or a window we’ll be able to retrieve you from—”

Shiro cursed loudly as an energy shot exploded overhead. Keith caught a whiff of the acrid smoke the shot created as it burned into the wall and glimpsed a looming form over Shiro’s shoulder just as they wheeled around the corner. It raised the weapon again, the sharp angle of its ears rotating in their sockets, and fired again at Shiro’s retreating back. Shiro turned corners seemingly at random as the guard shouted into its radio, sprinting down hallway after hallway in an effort to lose their tail, though it was all moot if the sensors and camera feeds were back up and running. He chanced upon a janitorial closet and threw the door open, nearly dropping Keith as he shut them inside.

Keith groped for him as he was set down on a neatly folded tarp. “...What—”

“It’s all right,” Shiro murmured, unfastening Keith’s leg holster and strapping it on himself. He raised his voice to be heard clearly over the comm. “White, I’m leaving Red in a storage closet in the east wing. Someone already got eyes on me, I’m headed west to draw the attention elsewhere.” He grasped one of Keith’s seeking hands. “Please come and get him.”

“Understood,” Allura answered. She sounded small. “But then I’m coming for you.”

Shiro settled Keith back on the tarp and gave a resigned sigh. “No, you’re not.”

“Shiro,” said Keith, gluing the syllables together, trying to pull him in. “Don’t leave.” Shiro pulled out of his grasp and pressed the blaster gun into his hands, molding them into the correct shape.

“Keith, listen to me,” he stated, retracting his eyeshield. “You take this. You point it at the door, and if it opens before Allura gets here, you shoot it the way I showed you. Understand?”

“I’m coming with you,” Keith insisted, trying to force himself out of this damnable haze.

“ _No_. Stay here.” Shiro’s words slammed into his skull like the keys of a typewriter. “ _Keith_. Stay here where it’s safe.” His head was pounding, Shiro sounded faraway, but he was still there, wasn’t he? Wasn’t he?

Keith awoke naked in the clouds of his mind to discover himself surrounded by the fragments of his own, shattered shell.

He rolled into an upright position and registered the hilt of the blaster still resting in his palm. Keith rolled the bones of his wrists, his ankles. These were his hands and feet, but something...something about the way his skin felt, moving over his joints, didn’t feel quite the same. There was a new quality raging along inside his veins. Keith searched his mouth for the word. _Alien._

The alarm was still blaring, and distantly, Keith could hear the commotion at the other end of the complex, peppered with the sound of gunshots. _Five_ gunshots. He reached for his handgun on reflex and came up empty. Keith was instantly flooded with adrenaline as his body began reacting on its own. Allura was shouting for Shiro over the comm, but his mic was dead. Their group was cornered and unable to retrieve Red —unable to retrieve _him_. Keith slowly scanned the tiny room.

Shiro was not there.

He burst topsy-turvy out of the closet and followed the clamor, muting his helmet and pushing the distraction off so it dangled behind him by its neckstrap. Another shot rang out as he was gathering his bearings. There were eight shots in that gun, but how many had been fired already-? He couldn’t hear himself think over his own heartbeat, couldn’t concentrate with this strange, sulphuric odor in his nose, but he was going the right direction if the casualties littering the halls were any accurate measure—bits and parts of annihilated sentries strewn left and right; a severed hand; a carcass, downed by a well-placed bullet to the eye. Keith turned another corner and met eyes with a thick-furred guard.

It—no, _he —_didn’t move, and this would be the _perfect_ moment for Keith to raise his blaster, but his arms wouldn’t obey him. His legs bent of their own accord, every follicle standing on end as his spine curved low and predatory. The alien standing between Keith and his target spooked; crept backward and reached for his gun instead of his blade, but Keith didn't question it, just as he didn't question the horrible, creaking roar that came rattling out of his throat.

The first time Keith had felt it necessary to kill a man, it had been to preserve his own life. It was a quick kill: someone wanted cash, got violent when he wouldn't give it up, and found oblivion at the business end of his knife. It was similar enough the second time, too; Keith didn't like mess, took no pleasure in murder, didn't like to do it for any sake but to save himself. That was the distant past. That was before Shiro held his hand and told Keith he wanted to be _his person_ , before he realized that no matter how it seemed, Shiro wasn't invincible; before he imagined _his person_ might come to any harm. Keith wanted nothing but to _harm_ anyone that dared to _harm_ Shiro. The smell of sulphur sextupled as Keith’s mouth flooded with rage.

Shiro had said Galra were hard to kill. Well, so was he.

It was easy dodging the initial shot, feet moving independent of his still-swimming brain. He caught himself on all fours and darted forward as the guard refocused the beam of his weapon, barking words he couldn't understand. Too late. Keith launched himself at that furred throat and sank his sharpest teeth into the meat. Hot fluid spurted into his eyes and nose as he gnashed through skin and sinew, doggedly oblivious to the gigantic fists raining blows down upon his head as he ripped free entire chunks of flesh. Keith dug his heels into the Galra’s ribs and spat blood into its screeching mouth, widening the wound with one set of fingers and tearing into an eye socket with the other. His rabid howl echoed down the clinical walls as he closed his teeth around a thick artery, first victim toppling to the ground.

Keith extracted his dagger from the wall of his boot and lifted the long, machete-like blade from the corpse’s hip, tossing away the crushed eyeball in his fist. His head was still throbbing, unable to find equilibrium, but his buzzing legs held him upright. _That's one_.

He forged on through the harsh, reflective corridors, past another lifeless body and countless sentries disabled with a single strike. Shiro’s helmet lay splintered among them with an artful splatter of red blood, his empty pistol not too much farther, and when the next two guards finally cornered him, Keith had entered a hellish fugue state, disintegrating entirely into something primal and nightmarishly new.

Tearing a leaf from Shiro’s book, he threw his dagger into the eye of the first, diving for the legs as it reeled and slicing the tendons behind the knees clean through. Keith grabbed his knife and drove it deep into the other viscid orbital to confirm his kill. A dull _thwack_ resounded and his right arm lost power. Keith looked down and registered the second guard’s curved blade in his shoulder, saw that it had severed his muscle fibers right down to where the metal was embedded in the bone. He turned around, lips curling back from his gums, and shrieked mindlessly at his transgressor. Shrinking backward, the Galra had just time to grab his remaining weapon before Keith recalibrated his blaster with one hand, just the way Shiro taught him, and shot off the arm that had sent the offending blade in his shoulder flying.

He clenched the stolen sword in his left hand and darted for the guard as he reeled in shock, plunging the weapon through his stomach. The Galra fell like a tower and he stabbed him again and again, slicing horizontally through the abdominal wall. Keith straddled the guards hips and thrust his trembling hands into the steaming wound, eviscerating his victim before his eyes with another, ululating war cry.

“ _YOU KNOW WHAT I WANT_ ,” he heard himself rage, ripping entrails from their roots, splattering the floor.

The guard was too weak to shove him off. “ _Yes_ - _!_ ” Keith roared at him again, his own hoarse sounds ringing foreign in his ears.

“ _WHERE!_ ”

“ _Near the lab_ ,” was the gurgled reply. “ _The west entrance_.” Good.

“ _We’re walking out of here,_ ” Keith rasped. “ _Tell your friends.”_ He held up a sanguine fistful of intestine and chewed the slimy flesh free of its stem —flung it at the other guard’s lifeless face just a few meters away. “ _Tell them I will kill them all_.” Weakly, the Galra reached for his radio.

Keith made sure to retrieve his dagger before continuing on, wiping the buttery vitreous humor off on one of the guards’ uniform shirt. The lab wasn't far, now, and the guards that had grown in number as he’d followed Shiro’s breadcrumbs were now all but absent, but that was nothing to relax about. Keith fired with abandon at anything that so much as twitched as in his direction—sentries, cameras, a guard that wasn't expecting him, that had a _comically_ large robotic arm, that had that arm trained on _Shiro —_

There was no getting a clear shot, and Shiro hadn't noticed him, dancing in and out of his adversary’s reach, hunting for an opening. Keith forced down another whooping cry to shout for him. “Shiro!” The Galra paid him no mind, and Shiro was too tunneled out to hear him no matter how loud he cried. Keith stilled himself and sucked in a final breath. “ _Takashi-!_ ” Shiro snapped around, saw the gun, dropped down out of the way, and Keith depressed the trigger, obliterating his antagonist until there was nothing left but a smoking mass of viscera lying neutered on the floor.

Shiro jilted to his feet, drank him in, and Keith devolved at once, all adrenaline and wolverine-like animosity draining from him in an instant. A silver arm wound under his shoulders as his legs started to give out, surroundings blurring again, shoulder starting to throb. The edges of his vision were turning black, but Keith didn’t care. Shiro was here, and they were together.

Together. Shiro, and his kitten.

“What are you doing here?” Shiro wanted to know, maneuvering Keith’s lolling neck to his shoulder. His fringe was stained a dark crimson. “Keith, how—how did you do that?”

“Do what,” Keith mumbled.

“Find me,” Shiro stressed. “You weren’t supposed to be here, how did you—what did you _do_?”

“I realized something could happen to you,” answered Keith, fighting the fog. “I decided that wasn’t going to happen.” Shiro awkwardly drew him in as close as he could. Keith struggled to ask him why he wasn’t using his other arm, but Shiro switched the helmet at his neck back on before he could form the words.

“Where are you? Did you make it outside?”

“ _Shiro,_ ” Allura cried, anxiety tainting her voice. “What—yes, we’re in the pod, we didn’t know what else to—”

“We’re headed to the west service exit,” Shiro told her. “Meet us there.” Keith felt the arm serving as his crutch move under him, and Shiro had the two of them running, synthetic arm supporting the brunt of Keith’s weight. The motion had Keith queasy, but it didn’t endure long. Shiro kicked out the first window he found and helped Hunk ladle him into the pod under heavy fire from the external turrets. Allura had them in hyperspeed as soon as Shiro was in after him, handing Lance the controls and crawling over the armrest into the rear.

“Forget about me,” intoned Shiro, helping Keith back into his arms even as Allura wrapped both of hers around his neck. Hunk removed Keith’s helmet and small backpack as gently as he could, trying to keep his composure at the sight of so much sticky blood. “Worry about Keith. Is anyone else hurt?”

“We’re ok,” Pidge said, shakily pressing a wad of gauze from the emergency kit into Keith’s oozing shoulder. He gasped in pain, but she couldn't ease up, keeping a firm hand on the wound to stymie the flow of blood. Shiro nudged him back to reality when he tried squeezing his eyes shut.

“Don't fall asleep,” he warned. Keith listlessly watched Hunk pass Allura a small pair of scissors. She gingerly lifted the cuff off his shirt to cut apart the fabric. Hunk jerked away in nausea: Shiro’s left arm had been opened down to the joint, the gash as deep and ragged as a canyon. Allura threw the scissors down and tried to force the gorge closed, fitting muscle tissue back together over ivory bone and taping it closed with a temporary packing of gauze.

It had to be agonizing, even Allura was having difficulty keeping her hands steady, but Shiro didn't flinch. Keith tried to ground himself with that stillness, reassured by his deep breaths. Shiro’s eyes never left his face.

Lance chanced a look over his shoulder and immediately regretted it. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Shiro—”

“Just get us to Coran as fast as you can,” Allura strained. “Shiro, you know we only have one healing chamber on-planet.”

“I’m fine,” Shiro contended. “Keith has a head injury, his ears were bleeding, he _has_ to go in first.”

Keith wanted so bad to close his eyes and sleep.

“Shiro,” Pidge tried. “You could lose your arm.”

“Then it would be worth it,” he answered, sure and calm. “We’ll have Coran do what reconstruction he can and then we’ll figure something…” Shiro drifted off, carefully bouncing Keith’s cheek. “No, Keith, wake up.”

Shiro was too comfortable, too safe. Keith sighed into the darkness. “I can’t.” Pidge was there, too, telling him not to fall asleep, that he _couldn't_ , but Keith was already there.

There were hands beneath him, a sharp pain in his shoulder, and then nothingness, weightless and lukewarm.

*

Shiro was handling him.

_Keith_ , he said, settling Keith on his lap, seating them on Allura’s bone-white couch. _Are you feeling better?_

Keith wasn't sure.

_Come back to me_ , Shiro said. _Remember me. I know you can. Late August, it was so hot, so humid it was like we were swimming. You had those red plugs in, the ones you don't wear anymore._

_I was wearing my dog tags. You held them in your hand, Keith. Can’t you remember?_

Keith was confused. He thought Shiro didn't want him to remember.

_I don't want to tell you,_ Shiro tried to explain. _But if you can remember on your own…_

_It's time to change the tubes in your arm_. Allura. _Go on and put him back in._

Keith didn't want Shiro to go.

_I'm not going anywhere,_ he said. _So let’s get you back in. You’re doing so well._

*

It was late night when Keith opened his eyes to glittering cityscape. The view was familiar. _Oh_. He was in Allura’s living room. But where was she?

Shiro appeared at his right and something like a sob collected in the back of his throat.

“Done in there?” Shiro smiled as the sea-green glass separating them slid open and lifted Keith out. “You’ll still have to take it easy for a while, you know.” His left arm was strong around Keith’s waist. Keith kicked a little to be set back down and rolled up the sleeve of Shiro’s dark grey knit. The skin was smooth and healthy. All evidence of the injury had vanished, save for a silvery, spiderwebbed scar marking where the torn flesh had fused back together. Keith raised his head.

“How?”

Shiro nodded at something behind him and Keith looked back at two capsule-like healing chambers standing against the back wall of Allura’s living room, opposite the window. “I waited it out while Allura sent for a second one. You slept a long time. It’s been almost two weeks.”

“Where is Allura, anyway?” Keith questioned, still smoothing his hand back and forth over Shiro’s healed arm.

“She’s with everyone else, having dinner at Lance and Hunk’s place. I figured they’d be there all night, so I told them I’d stay here to watch you. I had a feeling you’d wake up soon.” Shiro straightened his elbow and Keith pulled his shirt back into place. “Everyone was worried about you, you know. I’ll have to send a message to tell them you’re finally awake.”

“Mm,” was all Keith had to say to that, arranging Shiro’s free arm back around him where it belonged.

Shiro’s thumbs massaged circles into his lower back. “What do you want? Do you want to go over and meet everyone, or do you want to get food and go home?”

“I want to go home,” Keith responded, and was promptly loaded into Shiro’s car. After a quick stop for a chicken sandwich, Keith was home, though undeniably surprised that he was walking up to his and Pidge’s apartment complex rather than Shiro’s.

Shiro sent a message to the group chat while Keith unlocked the door and stopped short in the entrance. Keith frowned at him, quizzical. “You’re not coming in?”

“I have somewhere to be in the morning,” Shiro explained, leaning down to kiss him goodbye. Keith dodged it and took him by the wrist, leading him farther inside.

“It can’t be that important.”

Shiro resisted, but it was half-hearted, insincere. “Keith—”

“Stay,” Keith commanded. “With me.” His autocracy weakened a little under Shiro’s knowing stare. “...You can use my toothbrush.” The corners of Shiro’s mouth twisted as he looked wistfully into the apartment, then back through the still-open door. Keith knew his spell was effective when he surrendered with a sigh. _Yes_.

“Why is it so difficult to say no to you, Texas?” lamented Shiro, pushing the door closed with a foot. “This isn't my first rodeo the way it is yours.”

Keith strode off into his room and silently thanked himself that it wasn't trashed. “Are you trying to say that you've had a lot of practice?”

“There's no fair answer to that,” Shiro admonished. He peeked into the room to see Keith digging through his underwear drawer. “What are you doing?”

“You said I've been sleeping for two weeks.” Keith pushed past, drawing a smile from Shiro. “I’m gonna need a shower before I feel human again.” Shiro followed him to the bathroom and Keith stopped him at the threshold. “No peeking.”

“I let you peek,” grumbled Shiro. Keith shut the door. The denial would keep him interested, he knew.

Keith finished up in the shower, pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and dried his hair before he thought to open the bathroom door to let the steam out, returning to the shower to collect the hair in the drain. Shiro was there as predicted when he turned back to the sink. Keith eyed him dismissively, tying his hair up away from his neck. “ _Excuse_ me. I have a _boyfriend_.”

“You are so cute,” said Shiro. Keith stalked past him a second time, led him into the kitchen for a glass of water.

“I thought I said no peeking.”

“It's not peeking if you opened the door,” Shiro protested. One skeptical look was all Keith needed to send him fumbling for another excuse. “I was just...checking on you, in case you needed anything.” He crunched down in surprise on the candy in his mouth when Keith put the now empty glass down and hooked a thumb under the hem of his knit shirt.

“Yeah. That's what you were doing,” Keith reasoned out, pushing Shiro’s sweater and undershirt up over his head. “ _Checking_ on me. And not, _checking_ me out while I was ass-up in the shower, right?” Shiro had both hands on said ass in an instant as Keith pressed himself flush against the poorly-concealed tent in the front of his sweatpants. Keith shook his head in disbelief, absorbing the novel sensation of Shiro’s skin on his. “I wasn't even bent over for that long.”

“That wasn't it,” said Shiro, helping himself to handful after handful as if his face wasn't beet-red. “You caught me off guard. I've never seen you wearing so little.”

“I could wear even less,” Keith offered, resting his chin on Shiro’s clavicle and savoring his earthy scent. Shiro made the same expression he’d worn during their power struggle at the front door. He should know how this was about to play out.

Shiro chose his words carefully. “We should...talk about it, first. When we’re not so heated. We should talk about what we like and don't like—stuff you might not know.”

“I'll find out what I like on the fly whether we talk about it or not,” Keith confuted. “You’ll show me what you like. If you're there, all I really need to know is where to put it.” Shiro’s breath hitched as Keith palmed him. “I know where to put it, Shiro.”

“I know you do,” Shiro whispered, giving into his touch. Keith untied the laces of his sweatpants, let them drop to the kitchen floor, and Shiro’s cock bounced up into his palm, too big for Keith to close his fingers around. He stroked it through the loose fabric of his boxers and Shiro melted in his hand.

Keith lazily met Shiro’s eyes. His sorcery was working. “Tell me you want me.”

Shiro leaned down, sugary breath fanning over his chin, but Keith kept his lips just out of reach. “You already know I want you.”

“I need you.” Keith kissed his collarbone and worked a thumb over the moist fabric at Shiro’s slit. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. Whatever you want _inside_ me. _Shiro_.”

“What the hell are you trying to do to me?” Shiro groaned, closing his metal hand around the back of Keith’s neck.

“I’m trying to make you cum, but you’re making it difficult,” Keith demonstrated, grinding into the fingers brushing the cleft of his ass. Shiro bit his lip as Keith stopped playing with him and came up for kisses, wet and lemon-sweet. “You know, I think you might be just a little bit too big for me.” He hooked a leg over Shiro’s hip and let his fingers explore lower. “Too long, too thick, but just barely. Sounds nice, doesn't it?” Keith moaned when Shiro’s tongue touched his. “You, stretching me out.”

Shiro gripped his neck firmly. “Enough.” He held Keith still, spoke into his mouth. “You have me. Stop teasing me and tell me what you want.”

“Shiro, just—” Keith trembled in his hands, in the sudden spotlight. “Just make me feel good.” Shiro had him on his back on the living room sofa before he could blink, and if Keith had been feeling self-conscious in this position he wasn’t now, not with Shiro lowering himself between his legs and stacking open kisses over the new, shimmering scar on his shoulder. His stomach pressed flat against Shiro’s muscled chest and Keith was struck with the new, sexually charged understanding that, _Christ_ , Shiro was a _man_.

Shiro returned his attention to Keith’s lips and thumbed at one of his nipples, tugging at the elastic of his underwear with his other hand. “Can I take this off?”

“Sure,” Keith said, helping him slide his briefs off by pulling one ankle up, then the other. Shiro tossed them away and reclaimed his mouth without looking down, sending a hand instead to explore the down-soft skin of Keith’s inner thighs, the supple incline of his hips. Keith’s hands tangled in Shiro’s short hair and his fingers slipped into the valley of his ass, stroking emphatically over his sex.

Keith arched, toes curling in response to the rhythmic teasing. Shiro withdrew his fingertips and held his gaze. “Keith.” He watched Shiro bring his brazen fingers to his mouth and suck them until they were weeping. The first digit dipped into him and Keith whimpered, spreading his knees wide.

“A-Another?” Shiro seated a second finger inside and slowly drew them back out. He twisted them just a bit and Keith couldn’t help a soft purr as Shiro’s knuckles dragged over the deep, sensitive grooves within him, just beyond the tight ring of muscle. Shiro plunged back in and crooked his fingers, caressing his textured walls. Keith’s hips jumped as Shiro pulled away, sitting back on his heels and looking down for the first time at where his hand was still half-buried in Keith’s body. He didn’t move for a while, expression unreadable. Flustered, Keith tried to sit up. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Shiro finally said. “You’re beautiful.” Keith brushed off his confusion and reached for Shiro’s boxers, intent on freeing the cock twitching against his thigh, but he was waved away. “Let’s just do this for now. Lay back for me and let me take care of you.” He did as asked and Shiro rearranged them, throwing Keith’s thighs over his shoulders like a cowl before resuming his ministrations. Keith let Shiro hear him moan his name as he worked his wrist, and again as a cool metal hand closed around his neglected dick. A third finger eased into his sex just before Shiro’s mouth descended between his legs.

Keith cried out, overstimulated with the fingers rocking into him, the hand at the root of his cock, the mouth at the shaft. Shiro grazed the stiff ridges there with the edge of his thumb; first the rows at the base, then under the narrow head. Keith bucked up as Shiro licked around the pointed tip and swallowed him entirely. “Like that, yes,” he keened, and Shiro fucked into him faster. “Just like that, Shiro—that’s so good—” Shiro’s fingers were longer and thicker than his own, filled him so much better than he could do himself. Keith looked down at Shiro’s bobbing head, watched himself disappear into his mouth in tandem with Shiro’s wrist—imagined pulling out Shiro’s cock, so much bigger than his fingers, and how easy it would be to guide it into him in this very same position—

Keith peaked with a shout of Shiro’s name and came all over the couch, slick cum flowing down his cock and Shiro’s elbow. Shiro removed his fingers with a fair bit of effort and the last of the clear fluid drained out, pooling on the faux leather cushion under Keith’s ass.

“What is this?” Shiro canvassed, cracking a smile once he’d collected himself. “The flood of Gilgamesh?”

“It’s not usually this much,” Keith offered, sheepishly welcoming Shiro back to face level and accepting a kiss. He wiped the cum from Shiro’s chin before reaching down between them with plans to return the favor. Shiro caught his wrist midway there and now Keith had to ask. “You don’t want me to do you?”

“Not today.”

Keith frowned, feeling unfairly overindulged. “But—”

“It’s okay,” Shiro reassured. “I can do it. Just stay like that for me.”

“Okay,” Keith granted, spreading his knees for Shiro’s hips again as Shiro shifted his weight to his synthetic elbow and pushed his boxers down.

Shiro kissed him before he could turn his eyes downward. “Don’t look.” Keith nodded and settled for counting the small distortions in Shiro’s face as he started to touch himself.

Shiro’s eyes closed and Keith watched as his eyebrows moved together, mouth falling slack. He put a finger to Shiro’s chin and elicited a pleasured sigh. It was more intimate than Keith had anticipated. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” Shiro breathed, shoulder flexing with every movement of his hand. “Doing things to you. And you doing things to me.”

“Like what?” Keith solicited, closing his thighs around Shiro’s hips.

“You know exactly what.” Shiro shot him the fondest of glares and worried his lip. “Could you—touch me, a little?” Keith could touch him a lot more than that. He put his hands on Shiro’s chest and smoothed them down, over the defined muscle and around to his ass. Shiro moaned in quiet approval and Keith felt him start to roll his hips. “You’re always teasing me. You little thing. So good at it, too.”

Keith scratched his nails over Shiro’s back, feather-light. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

“I do like it,” Shiro confessed with a shiver, raggedly pumping into his hand. “You’re perfect.”

“Come on,” Keith encouraged. He pulled at Shiro’s earlobe with his lips. “I’ll let you fuck my thighs, if you want.” Shiro hit his orgasm with a jolt and Keith felt something warm splash onto his skin, painting him from navel to neck. He didn’t have a chance to inspect himself before Shiro pulled his underwear back into place and used the blade of a hand to wipe him up.

Keith sat up as Shiro got to his feet and vanished behind the kitchen counter, reappearing with a roll of paper towels and some wipes.

“I think you’re going to have to get in the shower again,” Shiro determined, eyeing their mess. “Go on and rinse off, I’ll take care of this.” Keith went ahead and did as he was told, and upon returning to the scene of the crime, found no evidence olfactory or otherwise that anything unscrupulous had ever happened at all. Shiro waited as he surveyed his handiwork.

“Well, I’m satisfied,” Keith said at last. “And we don’t own a blacklight, so Pidge will never know.”

“Let’s go to bed,” proposed Shiro. “I’ve missed holding you.”

Yeah, Keith thought. Cuddling sounded nice.

He had to rework his tangled nest of blankets to fit Shiro’s large frame, but it was an act of grace. His bed was a thousand times more comfortable with Shiro in it—

_Exactly._ With Shiro in it, where he _belonged_.

*

Keith dreamed of uniformed Galra carefully cleaning Shiro up off the laminate. Both of Shiro’s arms were missing. His blood was poppy-red, petals fanned out across the floor.

*

He awoke with a start and clutched for Shiro’s chest, expecting to find it right where he had left him, under his head. The bed was empty. A note lay unwrinkled on his pillow.

_Heading back for the ship. Call me when you wake up._

_See you in a week or two._

_\- S_

Keith felt the spot where Shiro had been. The sheets were still warm.

He leapt out of bed and into the dark living room to check for Shiro’s car through the window. It was still in the lot, no driver in sight. Lights flickered at the opposite side of the building and Keith ran for the little balcony to find a large craft hovering there, similar to the transport pod Allura favored but twice the size at minimum. He climbed up onto the railing after it without a second thought and Shiro slammed open the hatch.

“Keith,” he said, breathlessly climbing down the footholds and pushing him backward to safety. “What are you thinking-?”

“I had a—a nightmare,” Keith choked, pulling Shiro down after him and trying to drag him inside. “I won’t let you out of my sight.”

Shiro wouldn’t budge over the threshold. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Come inside,” Keith begged, wishing he were strong enough to force Shiro in. His magic wasn’t working.

“I need to go back to the ship,” Shiro explained, gently prying at Keith’s hands. “I won’t be gone too long, maybe twelve days at most.” Keith threw himself at Shiro, tried to imprison him there with his body.

“No, _no_ , you can’t go,” he said, knowing his words held no authority. “You can’t go!”

Shiro put his arms around Keith with a laugh. “I think I must have broken your heart, in a past life.” Keith soaked in the consoling kiss placed on his forehead. “You know I’m the last person you need to worry about. I do this all the time.” Keith knew that, but he still _was_.

“Take me with you.” He buried his face in Shiro’s chest. “If you can’t stay, then let me come.”

“You can’t,” Shiro apologized. “I’d like you to come, but you were just in a healing chamber with a brain injury. You shouldn’t ride in any pressurized vehicles. Maybe next time.” Keith swallowed the hard lump in his throat and the hot tears that threatened to rise back up with it.

“Shiro,” he tried, turning the full force of his gaze on him just one more time. “ _Stay_.” Shiro only smiled and brushed the rumpled hair from his eyes.

“Your eyes could just steal me away.” Keith felt his face crumple.

“But they won’t.”

“But they won’t,” Shiro agreed. He moved Keith’s own palms over his eyes and gifted him a final kiss goodbye. “Be safe, baby.” His lips were gone first, then his footsteps, then the quiet, electric whirring of his craft.

Keith didn’t lower his hands for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _She was just a wish; she was just a wish._   
>  _And it all comes down to you._


	5. how to be a human being

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _yakusoku shita toori anata to, kokoni korarete hontouni yokattawa--_   
>  _kono komiagaru kimochiga, ai janai nara, naniga ai ka wakaranai hodo_

“Hey,” Allura called, head and shoulders emerging from behind the heavy curtain of the dressing booth she was occupying. “Hey!”

“Mm,” Keith grunted. He didn’t bother lifting his head from the back of the cushy armchair he was lounging in even as she tried waving at him.

Allura flapped her wrist with more gusto. “Come in here and tell me what you think!” Keith hefted himself up into a standing position and toed off his shoes before following her into the posh booth with faux reluctance.

She’d phoned just before noon, with the most pitiful, manipulative tone of voice Keith had ever encountered: _well it’s just_ such _nice weather today, and Shiro isn’t back yet so I_ know _you’re just holed up in your room, and there’s this nice little shop I’ve had my eye on visiting for_ quite _some time now, and there’s really_ no _one else I’d rather go with, and won’t you please please_ please _take me?_

Flattered despite himself, Keith had agreed, picked her up on his(!) white bike and let her direct him to a high-class department store deep in the most expensive part of the shopping district. The manager had looked them over dubiously after they passed through the scanner at the entrance, eyes flickering back and forth between their faces. _I’m only letting you in because you’re pretty,_ he’d informed the two of them, stepping aside and allowing a clerk to usher them in. _Just so you know._

Keith wasn’t sure what he’d meant by that, and said so as Allura excitedly dragged him into the bowels of the store. _Shiro brought me here last time and they wouldn’t let us in,_ she explained, high heels clacking on the marble tile. _He said it was because it looked like we might be dating, and that’s still taboo. But you and I are mismatched, in a manner of speaking. No one thinks we’re together._ Keith couldn’t really take offense to that, not once he took a look at Allura’s glittering visage next to his worn tank top that she’d made him put a jacket over. Allura rolled her eyes. _I’d never get in here with Shiro, he’s got too much distracting sex appeal. No, you’re perfect. You’re pretty._ We’re _pretty._ So she said, but Keith was sure that it was actually Allura who was pretty enough for both of them, after the manager looked at him as if he were crusted gum on the bottom of her peep-toe shoe.

He didn’t voice the sentiment, and so she sent him a wink, steering them toward the intimates. _That’s what it boils down to. ‘Pretty’ is good for business._ _‘Pretty’ trumps ‘alien.’_ She was certainly right about that.

Well. That was how he found himself bra shopping.

“How is it?” Allura asked, spinning as best she could with the two of them crammed into the little space. Keith crossed his arms and frowned.

“Disappointing. I thought alien boobs would be different.”

Allura mirrored his posture. “Please take this seriously,” she sniffed. “You’re the only one I can ask for help about this.”

Keith pursed his lips and considered that a moment. “…Okay. I mean. How does it feel?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Allura, pulling at one of the white straps. “The woman who came in to measure me earlier said that this was the right size, so I picked up a few styles I liked, but.” Keith sighed and allowed himself a cursory look at her chest.

“Well,” he exhaled, gesturing to her breastbone, “this part, the center gore, is supposed to tack to your sternum, and right now it’s floating, so it’s not fitting right. It’s kind of small in the front and you’re getting that tacky quad-boob effect, I–I think it might be the right size, but just...not a good cut.”

Allura rubbed at one of her bare arms. “I have a few more. Let me try another.”

“Sure,” agreed Keith, not expecting her to immediately take the damn thing off. He caught the discarded garment as it sailed over her periwinkle head and attempted to arrange it back on its weird hanger. “So, just wondering here—and you don’t have to answer this—but how did I end up as the ‘only one you can ask for help’? What happened to Pidge? Isn’t she a girl?”

“She is, but she told me to ask you,” shrugged Allura, hooking the second bra around her middle. “Said you helped her buy one when she needed one under some dress?”

“For her pinning ceremony.” Keith adjusted her straps. “Bee stings for tits. And I mean that,” he stressed, at Allura’s snort. “So much stress for nothing. Shiro would need a bra before she did.”

“He would never help me,” Allura lamented. “I ran the idea past him and he looked at me like I’d slapped him. What is it with Earthlings and your strange heterosexual norms?” She turned to face him again. “Is that the only reason you’re in here helping me? Because you only like men?”

Keith met that with a glare. “I don’t like men. I like one man.”

“Seems like splitting hairs, but fair enough,” Allura said, disinterestedly frowning at her reflection in the floor-length mirror and removing the second brassiere without soliciting Keith’s opinion. “That’s not what I was meaning to ask you today, in any case. I know you have work you’re neglecting and I want to know the reason why.”

“You mean the workbook Shiro gave me?” Keith asked, conjuring up an image of the pale green _Astrophysics II_ volume lying on his nightstand with distaste. “I’m not– _neglecting_ it, I’m just...waiting for him to come back and do it with me. It’s not like there’s a rush, anyway. We haven’t even talked about doing another job, not to mention I fail to see much value in my learning any of this at all. Shiro will always be able to do it better than I ever can. It’s about as useful as you adding lacy Earth-style bras to your already extensive wardrobe.”

“I want what I don’t have, is all,” said Allura, a bit too defensively. “We haven’t discussed our next job because Shiro said he wanted to take a break, so we’re taking one. And we both know it’s not smart to over-compartmentalize. When Shiro–rather,” she corrected herself, quickly, “ _if_ Shiro can’t carry out his work helping me navigate, it will be best for everyone involved if you can do that instead. I know you understand that much, Keith.” Keith avoided her eyes in the mirror, applying his full attention to the back straps of her third brassiere.

“It doesn’t matter,” he decided, emphatically tightening each one. “Because nothing is going to happen to Shiro.” _And I doubt I’ll ever see the inside of your ship_. Allura said nothing, turning round to give him a better view of the front, and Keith wished privately that she _would_ take him with her when she left, that he wasn’t just a back-up plan, that he could finally become someone both wanted _and_ needed and that they wouldn’t ever have to have the difficult, friendship-ending conversation they were going to have when the time came for Shiro to tell someone goodbye.

Allura’s eyebrows creased together when he didn’t comment further. Keith allowed himself a long, slow breath and stared up at the creamy stucco of the ceiling, crossing his arms again. Half-naked or not, he had something he wanted to tell her, that he didn’t know how to say to anyone else.

“I had...a dream, the other night. When Shiro left.”

Allura’s expression didn’t change. “What sort of dream?”

“It was after we took the lenses, and everyone else had already gone. Including me.” Keith kept squinting up above her, away from her searching, seawater eyes. “Shiro was still there. He’d. He’d died.”

Keith’s chin shot back down as a hand tightened around his forearm. Allura met his gaze, calm as ever. “How many arms did he have?”

His breath stopped–or maybe it was his heart. Keith swallowed uselessly. “None.” Allura loosed her fingers from his arm, but not without a tell-tale wrinkle of her elfin nose. Keith had to mentally lasso himself to keep from shouting at her. “Allura, you–you’ve _seen_ that?” Her eyes, face, body–it all betrayed nothing. “Did that actually happen?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted faintly, unlocking his arms to enclose him with her own. Keith hugged her back as a reflex, the subconscious tension in his muscles uncoiling as she lay her neck over his shoulder. It was easy to notice the height she had on him when they were as close as this. “Maybe so. But Shiro is okay, he’s on the ship. You know that. He calls every day, doesn’t he?”

“He’s late,” Keith breathed, closing his eyes to the backlighting and the surreal shimmer of her hair. “He said ten days. It’s already been thirteen.”

“Just be patient,” Allura said, pulling away. She caught him firmly by the shoulders, commanding him like the goddess she seemed to be. “And don’t mention this to him. It’ll only make him worry about things he can’t control.”

Keith nodded in her direction as well as he could without opening his eyes. “Yeah...no, you’re right. Okay.” Allura swirled back into his vision as her hand fell upon his head with a gentle pat.

“I try not to... _look_ at you,” she offered. “Though maybe I should. The only one I really watch is Shiro, because that’s how he prefers it. But I’ll still always try to look out for you, for both your sake and his.” She garnished her words with a blinding smile. “He loves you to death, you know?”

“T-Thanks,” Keith mumbled as her hands finally left him. He straightened up and cleared his throat, blinking down at her bosom with fresh eyes. “This one looks nice.” Allura twisted around to admire herself, cocking her head at his reflection with satisfaction. She agreed.

 

Keith hung back by the escalators while Allura waited in line for the cashier, leaning heavily on a Corinthian-styled support pillar and scrolling through the unread messages in the group chat on his comm’s projected screen. Hunk was taking requests for dinner, but shooting down everything Lance suggested. Pidge had caught wind of his and Allura’s shopping trip and was asking for an update. Keith suppressed an eyeroll and activated voice dictation, bringing his wrist close to his face so he could keep his words quiet. “Don’t have much to say. Sometimes you see them offering hors d’oeuvres in the windows of these places, so I was hoping for that, but no.” An ellipses appeared next to Pidge’s icon and he grinned, trying to get the rest of his piece in before she could reply. “Also you would think these people would offer better quality for some of the prices they’re demanding. Horrifying doesn’t begin to cover it.”

“I agree entirely.” A rich voice greeted Keith’s ears with conversational, melodic tone. “It’s as if they think I don’t work for my money. Any higher and I would take personal offense.” Keith turned to find a well-dressed man on his left with a high-class affect to rival Allura’s and a god-tier level of gorgeous to match. But unlike Allura, Keith figured the average person might be too glamorized to notice his pointed ears and silver hair, at first. More striking than that was the intimidating yellow sclera of the eyes evaluating Keith in turn. More striking than that was the hydrangea-violet color of this man’s skin.

 _Sure he’s got money, but just look at him_ , said the voice in the very back of Keith’s mind. _Pretty really_ does _trump alien._

“What?” said his new acquaintance, and Keith refocused to find that the lavender face had shifted from friendly to wary. He continued to stare, nonplussed. The tall stranger’s eyes widened, clawed hands tightening where they rested in the crooks of his elbows. Keith felt the corners of his mouth arching and the alien man took a half step back. “What are you doing?”

“Come here,” Keith endeavored sweetly, lowering his comm.

“No,” the man snapped, even as one of his feet slid forward. “Damn it!”

Keith angled toward him and smiled more amicably. “Come here. Come close to me.”

 _“I will not_ ,” bit the stranger, trembling fists betraying his panic. “ _I know_ _what you’re doing.”_

 _“Oh yeah, and what is that_ ,” Keith laughed. The conviction was admirable, but he didn’t have that kind of time. The mirth drained away and he pushed off the pillar to settle all of his concentration into the task at hand.“ _Look at me_ ,” he honeyed, raising his chin to better appreciate the bead of sweat collecting at the man’s violet temple. It ran into his pale hairline as Keith held his attention prisoner. “ _Good_.” He’d won. “ _Come_.” The stranger gravitated around the glass display separating them as if in orbit and Keith brought both hands up in victory, ready to seize him by his lovely, pointed ears.

“What are you doing?” A woman shoved around the stranger’s shoulder—another alien, if certain shared characteristics and the beryl color of her skin and hair were any indication. His imagination conjured the image of a blueberry and Keith staunchly repressed the urge to curl his lip. She inserted herself between the two of them, to her counterpart’s visible relief, but Keith didn’t miss the way she kept her distance. “I asked you a question, dammit!”

“I’m not sure what kind of answer you want,” Keith cautiously replied, rediscovering his fingers and wiggling them into the pockets of his unlined jacket. “Just over here shooting the shit.”

Her short hair whipped at her high cheekbones as she glanced behind her, then back to him. “You can’t just– _do that!_ ” Tears welled up in her eyes and it was clear to Keith that whatever this was, she was taking it personally. “You can’t just, walk around looking like that and just _steal_ people’s–I won’t just–! _This one is mine!_ ” Keith took a step backward toward the exit, toward freedom and away from this uncomfortable situation.

“Keith?” Allura’s free hand slid protectively around his elbow, ice-white hair arriving in his peripheral vision. “Do you know these people?”

“Nope,” he said, grabbing her wrist. Her shopping bags bumped at his shins as he turned her and Keith sent her a mental IOU for allowing him to steer them away without question. “Let’s go. They’re fucking nuts.”

“Oh, um,” she started, craning her neck to confirm that they weren’t being followed. “Okay.”

*

“Allura said you had some kind of...encounter, yesterday,” Shiro said, over speakerphone. Keith put his metal mixing bowl down with a clatter and glared at the comm where it lay next to him on the dark countertop.

“What, does she report to you or something?”

“Uh, no?” Keith could just see Shiro’s eyebrow arching, could just _see it_. “She was just worried about you.”

Keith blew his bangs out of his eyes and picked up the bowl again. “Nothing to worry about, just met some weird people. This place is crawling with them. I can handle myself.”

“I know that,” Shiro deftly balmed over his already unjustifiable irritation. “But I would rather handle it for you.” A little embarrassed at how effortlessly that had placated him, Keith attempted to change the subject.

“A more pressing concern,” he coughed, resting his weight on the counter and tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, “is what Allura said to me later on, when I suggested we get pretzels while we were out.”

“Go on,” returned Shiro, with the twinkling sonority he always adopted when Keith had him in a good mood. Coincidentally, Keith had had him in a good mood ever since he’d stepped out of that healing pod, fourteen days ago. Keith eyed the source of his voice.

“She said, and I quote, ‘Yes, let’s.’” He paused there, for emphasis. “‘Let’s get some _hot biznasty_.’”

“Did she really,” said Shiro.

“I...confirmed what she said,” Keith enunciated. “Then asked where she learned that. And would you believe that she said it was _you_?”

“Did she really,” Shiro repeated, an octave higher.

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith hissed. Shiro cracked.

“Fine,” he confessed, stifling a throaty laugh. “It was me. I’m pretty good with the bullshit. I told her it meant really good food, you–” Silence, then, as something clicked. “You better not have–”

“No, I–” Keith ran a hand over his eyes and the smile he couldn’t kill. “Obviously I wouldn’t snitch on you like that, but– _seriously_? How many–”

“A lot,” Shiro said. “And don’t think I can’t hear you grinning. You love the bullshit. You’re gonna get _in_ on the bullshit. You’re gonna _help_ bullshit. You and me, Bonnie and Clyde–”

“More like Sid and Nancy,” Keith giggled. He didn’t miss the small crunch on Shiro’s end of the line. “Are you eating candy again?”

“Pineapple.”

“You’re gonna get diabetes,” Keith scolded, retrieving the bowl to finally start measuring out his ingredients. “Unless you already have it. Why do you eat so much of that shit, anyway?”

“Oh you wanna know?” teased Shiro.

“You gonna tell me?”

Shiro cleared his throat for dramatic effect. “There is,” he declared, “an old lady that lives in the building adjacent to mine.”

“Where is this going,” Keith muttered, mostly to himself. Shiro quickly shushed him.

“When I first moved in, I always saw her out watering her begonias during my morning run. I said hello and we had a nice routine every morning; I’d go out, say good morning, she’d squeeze my arms a bit. By the time I came back from my run she was always gone.” Keith knew Shiro too well at this point and felt himself mirroring the expression he was definitely making on the other side of his comm, right down to the diminutive crease in his brow. “Then one day when I come out she stops me and begs me to take her granddaughter to dinner.”

“And you said yes?” Keith intoned, incredulous.

Shiro groaned. “Well, yeah, I mean she’s an old lady and she sounded desperate, so. Yes. I said yes, because Allura had been bugging me to have some fun and I figured what the hell, right? I show up in my car at the address the woman gives me, and...I don’t know how relevant this is but for the sake of entertainment, just let me say that I understand why she was so desperate. She...” He trailed off, briefly. “The girl was unfortunate, Keith. I don’t know how to describe–she, she looked like an overinflated blow-up doll. A cheap one. And I don’t just mean that she was big, you can be big, I’ve dated big people.” It dawned on Keith that Shiro’s size fetish might go both ways. “I literally mean she looked like she was made of vinyl. I think she’d never used makeup before and just went for gold. There was tape on her forehead–and Keith, she seemed really nice, she did. But I couldn’t get over the tape.”

“I’m gonna piss my pajama pants,” Keith suffocated. “Where is this _going_ , Shiro–”

“I take her to the closest restaurant, which happens to be a nice Chinese place,” Shiro continued. “They take one look at us and seat us in the farthest, darkest corner they have. We order, I can’t stop looking at the tape on her forehead, she’s drinking slightly too much...it’s going about as well as you’d hope for a blind date like that. Fast forward to dessert, she says she isn’t feeling so well. I stand up, thinking I’d walk her to the restroom or something. No. She projectile vomits all over my crotch, my one good button-down, and the egg custard I had...full intentions of eating.” Shiro sighed so hard the feed crackled. “Then I guess she had been wearing a wig the entire time, because it fell off into her plate while she was bent over in shame.”

Keith had umpteen questions, the first of which was, “Wait, she was bald?”

“No, she had her own hair underneath which was perfectly fine.”

“Then why–”

“Look, I don’t know,” Shiro said. “I wasn’t a dick about it, I didn’t ask. I just took the wig and myself into the bathroom, washed what I could in the sink, paid and took her home. Her grandmother apologized to me, profusely, and gave me I assume the only thing she had at the time, which was a handful of off-brand hard candy from the pocket of her apron. And that’s what I’ve gotten every morning since then. I try to eat at least some of it, but there’s so much, and I don’t want to throw it out, so here we are.”

Keith opened a drawer to dig for the wooden spoon. “You could just buy a big candy tin and not eat any of it.”

“Maybe I like sweet things,” said Shiro, clear intent sending heat trickling down under the elastic of Keith’s waistband.

He shook it out as best he could. There was no point getting worked up with Shiro an entire solar system away. “Okay, well, jokes aside, I’m kind of grateful to this chick. For puking on you, that is. God knows I don’t need competition.”

“Trust me, there was none. She said she was like twenty-three, but under the makeup she couldn’t have looked any older than eighteen. Even by appearance that’s a little young for me at this point,” Shiro assured.

“So you’re saying I’m too young for you, then?” Keith threw back, calmly spinning the bowl with his spoonless hand.

Shiro’s response was preceded by a pregnant silence. “...No, I said she _looked_ young, not that she was. Though I guess you actually were like eighteen when we met, I think, I–I mean I was obviously three years younger too, and it’s not like I asked you how old you–”

“So you’re saying I was jailbait, then,” Keith returned.

“I guess–no, I mean. I mean you did look good, you...you looked _really_ good, I’m not saying you didn’t–I mean you look pretty much the same, and you’re just...ridiculously… Right, even if you were like seventeen, that’s still not jailbait, that’s–that’s perfectly legal, Keith–”

“Wow, Shiro,” deadpanned Keith, despite the laugh struggling behind his clenched teeth. “Wow.”

“I’m not–I don’t–” Shiro sucked a heavy breath through audibly clenched teeth. “Does–does your communicator have a projector built in? Do you mind if we do that?”

Keith put his baking down to accept the holochat request that arrived a few seconds later. “Mm. Who’s the king of bullshit now?”

“I concede my title,” answered Shiro, with affection. “I can’t remember the last time I let anyone fuck with me like that. Guess we’re full of firsts.” Keith turned on his heel to switch on the oven and lost his wind in an instant, because Shiro was _right there_ , _finally_ , in the _flesh_ –or, the simulated flesh, Keith realized, brain finally catching up as his eyes noticed the subtle electronic flicker in the holographic image.

The illusion’s breaking was only temporary, though. Shiro leaned down to eye level and Keith raised his spoonless hand to touch his glowing cheek without a second thought. He looked so _real_ , and yet the static crackle as his fingertips permeated the projection said he was not. Keith guided his fingers higher, skirting Shiro’s cheekbones, eyes–he’d never known he could like a stormy shade of grey _this much_ –and up into his cropped hair. He hadn’t imagined it, before; that white shock of hair was definitely spreading.

“Are you okay?” Shiro wanted to know, a small crease forming between his dense eyebrows. Keith nodded and the wrinkle smoothed out and reformed into one reflective of the loving warmth swirling into the grey of his eyes. “The comm projector makes you look like a living doll, somehow. I can’t explain it. It’s in your eyes.” Shiro’s head tilted to the side. “And your hair. It’s getting so long.”

Keith was almost disappointed Shiro didn’t make a  futile attempt to touch it. “It grew a lot in the healing pod. Allura said something about cell division being sped up in the pod, that it would last a while after coming out. It’s normal.”

“I usually cut mine,” Shiro shrugged, and Keith tried not to think about how often he may need to go into the pod in the first place. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of old, burning cheese drippings wafting from the oven as Shiro continued to peer at him. “Still, it’s...really long.”

“I can cut it if you don’t like it,” offered Keith with a small frown.

“Don’t,” Shiro said, immediately. “I like it.” Keith’s frown righted itself as Shiro moved on with his inspection. “You’re wearing ear warmers. I thought it was warming up? And that spoon, are you making something?”

Keith returned his attention to his mixing bowl in a moment of clarity. “We’ve been having a cold snap since you left. It’s freezing. Saw some flurries, even; pretty rare here in the 602. And this spoon,” he added, raising the bowl into range of the projector, “is for making cornbread.”

“Mm?” He had Shiro’s attention, with that. “Is that your, ah, specialty?”

“No,” Keith returned, “my specialty was bequeathed to me by my dad. Mimosas, but with Sunny D or instead of orange juice. Orange Kool-Aid can also be substituted, in a pinch.”

Now it was Shiro’s turn to frown. “I thought you said he died when you were six.”

“He did.”

“...Okay,” said Shiro cheerfully, after a pause that was both pregnant and revelatory, “well, save me a piece? For when I get back?” And Keith couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but there was _something_ about Shiro’s current emotional state that was entirely novel. It was nothing he would have been able to notice before, it having been present from the start, but a penumbra had been cleared from Shiro’s simulated presence. It may have been the first time Keith was seeing Shiro something akin to genuinely happy. And Shiro wasn’t even there with him, in person. Because Shiro had broken a promise. Because Shiro was _late_.

Keith spun away, mood swinging toward the sticky kitchen tile. “Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just eat all of it myself and leave you nothing.”

Behind him, Shiro laughed. “You are _painfully_ adorable.”

“I am not,” Keith huffed, grabbing the loaf pan. “I meant what I said.” Shiro shook his head in his peripheral vision.

“You wanna know how I and everyone else knew you liked me? This is how, Keith. It’s called reaction formation. The psychologists of old would have _loved_ you.”

“I don’t know what that is.” He glared at Shiro as the pan filled with batter. “Sure makes it hard to care.”

Shiro nonchalantly kept his gaze fixed on Keith’s busy hands. “Traditional defense mechanism. You don’t know how to deal with whatever it is you’re feeling toward me, probably because you can’t control me and that makes you uncomfortable. So you lash out and act mean to me to convince both yourself and everyone else that you’re not actually feeling it at all. Like a little kid picking on their crush. Same as you’re doing now. Same as the Case of the Knife in the Nighttime. Same as you did before for an entire _four months_.” Keith took the time to privately roll his eyes while he was turned round, but hiding it was pointless. Shiro knew. “So, are you going to tell me what’s prompted this bout of bullying, or do I have to guess?”

Holo-Shiro was even closer when Keith allowed himself to look back, towering over his face, and Keith _really_ couldn’t differentiate between this projection and the man himself, not when they shared so many visual cues. This Shiro was the same as the one he knew to be real—the entire world, lush and bright, overpowering in the gentlest sense, and maybe the Shiro on the other end of the connection was feeling something similar, judging from the way his light-formed lips suddenly came down to brush Keith’s nose. The empty kiss skittered over his face like neutered lightning. Keith looked up at Shiro, felt the cartilage in his knees turning to gelatin, and attempted to change the subject entirely. “Before...I’ve been meaning to ask you, when we were all still in that lab. I heard you tell Allura I lied about something. I _remember_ ,” he insisted, before Shiro could fit a word in edgewise. “What were you talking about?”

“Nothing important now,” Shiro replied, without moving away from Keith’s face. “In any case, I'm not sure you did. Not too sure of anything, anymore. But that’s alright.” The smile he afforded Keith was a little too amused, a touch too polite. “Back to my question.”

“A-Allura’s been on my case about the next workbook you gave me.” Keith knew it wasn’t working, that he was blinking way too much and should just give it up, but he just _couldn’t_. “Said even if you did say we’re all taking a break I shouldn’t shirk it, so I—need you to tell me what units I should start on, if we’re going out of order.”

“Don’t worry about what Allura says and just wait for me to start it with you,” said Shiro, still all smiles. “You can quote me on that. Consider it a well-deserved break and just enjoy a couple weeks of not having to listen to me ramble about the dimensions of the universe and all the metaphysical laws that come with it.”

Keith shifted a little under his assessing holo-eye. “Don’t say that. You know I love listening to you talk.” Shiro’s scrutiny dissipated, and the hologram was definitely a little washed out, but Keith could still swear he saw a flush creeping up Shiro’s neck. “What?”

“–No, it’s just,” Shiro swallowed, “I’ve never heard you use that word before.” Keith stared at him until he felt pressure waxing again in the ensuing silence. “...You’re making eyes at me.” Shiro’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Are you losing your edge yet?”

Absolutely not. “How did you get that scar? You know. The one on your face.”

“Giving into communication isn’t the same as losing, Keith,” sighed Shiro, raising both hands and showing Keith his palms. “Even if it feels like it sometimes. You’re important to me. I want and need to know what upsets you. Just _try_ to talk to me, I won’t ask you for more.”

Something tenuously stretched inside Keith snapped and he sagged to the side, shoulders first. He huffed again, tried not to be childish... “Shiro, I just…want you to tell me when you’re coming home.” Understanding colored Shiro’s cheeks.

“I.” Shiro slammed his mouth shut, metal fingers weaving themselves into his fringe. “I’m not sure. Soon, I think.”

Keith didn’t want to say he was getting petulant or anything without Shiro there, but it was there in his voice, staring back at them both. “You said _ten days_.”

“It was supposed to be,” Shiro insisted. “Then I finished my work and Kolivan said I couldn’t leave.”

“Why not?”

“I wish I knew.” Shiro was twisting the gunmetal ring he always wore–a nervous habit, Keith had learned. “When I arrived, all the Galra on the ship agreed that I _reeked_ of something. Whatever it is, they’re antsy about it. And no one will tell me anything. Trying to get any information about it is like talking to a brick wall. I’d sure like to leave. I’m not even convinced that they need me for whatever it is they’re looking into, seeing as they already stole my so-called _stinking_ clothes.”

“I think you’re right,” Keith asserted, with a renewed and appreciative eye on the skin-tight Altean jumpsuit Shiro was currently squeezed into. “And, I don’t think you need anyone’s permission to leave, so. Come home.”

Shiro looked at what Keith could only assume was the ceiling of the ship. “Easier said than done.”

“Wrong.” Shiro’s attention refocused itself on his face and Keith could sense his sorcery coming to a head again, that he was in the pocket and could exert his _magic_ on Shiro right now, if he wanted–and he _did_ want. Though, it might be a little harder to do, without Shiro physically there in front of him. “Just say fuck you and take the pod you arrived in. Come home.”

“Keith, I.” Shiro didn’t blink, didn’t move, didn’t have his heart in the way he said Keith’s name. “I–I suppose I can try. But I really can’t promise–”

“No, _no_ _‘I can’t promise_ ,’” Keith crackled. The submerged irritation that had been brewing just above his stomach ever since Shiro had left broke the surface, reared itself in his voice and dredged just a hint of betrayal up with it. It wasn’t fair and he knew it, but was it _effective_ , well. “Why are you doing this? Don’t you miss me?” More, _more_ betrayal, and a sweet, threnodial waver in his words. “Don’t you want to _come back to me?_ ” Keith wasn’t in control of the strings of this harp anymore. All he could do was focus on what he wanted from this interaction, on his desired result. “Shiro.”

Shiro’s eyes were a little glassy. “Of course I do.”

“Come home.” It was a command, and a good, sharp one. “Come back to me _now_.”

“Okay.” Shiro smiled sunnily and Keith’s spell shattered like fine china. “I’m leaving now. Don’t forget to save some of that cornbread for me.”

Keith waved the dirty spoon at him victoriously. “I’ll even put it in your fridge for you. That is, if you still trust me to be in your apartment all alone–”

“You can snoop, I’ve got nothing to hide.” To Keith’s surprise, Shiro was reaching to end the call. His smile never faltered. “Anything you want. I’ll see you real soon, baby.”

“Yeah,” Keith said, feeling a little dazed as Shiro dematerialized without his usual signoff– _stay safe, sleep well, and try not to miss me too much._ There was nothing to worry about, though; Shiro sent a text not twenty minutes later with a cheerful photo of himself in the cockpit of the travelpod.

 _On my way._ ♡

 

Keith sure did take the opportunity to snoop when he stopped by Shiro’s place later that evening.

Well, _snoop_ was an unattractive word. _Explore_ was much less incriminating. Mostly, though, he just wanted to know what had happened to all of Shiro’s shit. Avoiding unnecessary clutter was one thing, but Shiro didn’t seem like the type to just weirdly live in an environment so... _barren_.

There weren’t any answers to that question, though; all Keith found after opening all the closets was a bare-bones assortment of cleaning supplies and clothes and a spare pair of sheets. After rearranging everything the way he found it, he turned his eyes to the not-quite-empty room, and the safe and cardboard box lying inside on the floor.

The safe popped open with Keith’s first tug. It had never been locked. Which, was the most interesting thing about it–all Keith found inside was a stack of documents that he gave up on leafing through as soon as he found boring things like Shiro’s birth certificate and social security number. Keith returned the pile to the dark chamber and pulled open the flaps of the large box. Much better. The box was halfway full.

Keith plunged a hand in and out came a thick patterned housecoat. He put it to his face in hopes it would have Shiro’s scent. It didn’t. It smelled of nothing at all. Keith put it on, in any case; the sleeves were way too short, but it was still warm. He peeked at the few remaining contents. A small wooden chest rested at the bottom, next to a worn handkerchief, and what looked like a small handheld game console. Out came the chest and up went the lid, and for his trouble Keith was rewarded with an antique silver mirror, an old lacquered comb, and matching pin.

Emboldened somehow, Keith put the chest down and pulled the band from around his neck to fashion his over-long hair into a messy topknot. He stuck the comb in the base and pulled the pin apart, fitting the two halves back together inside the mass of hair. A quick admiration of his handiwork in the comm’s front camera and a photo was rocketing through cyberspace. Pidge’s reply came promptly a few seconds later.

_??? You look like a woman._

_But am I a pretty woman?_ , Keith typed back, and set his communicator down to return his stolen goods to their proper places. The handkerchief was boring, so the day’s final conquest would be whatever was beside it. Keith was delighted to find that what he had thought was a game console was actually an older-model video diary, the same make Pidge had and that he’d gotten to know her family by watching. His comm buzzed again.

 _Solid four out of ten_. _We’ll work on it._

Keith decidedly put the comm aside and got himself comfortable before bringing the diary’s solar panel into a ray of sunlight and opening the lid. The library was full of videos, sorted oldest to newest, and the oldest was dated June 13th, 2295. Ten years ago, just before Earth joined the Interplanetary Alliance. Keith could see a green valley in the thumbnail and wondered if he was in for anything special as he opened the file.

 _Mom_ , Shiro’s voice filtered through. _Mom, turn around so I can get you in the shot!_ A petite woman with hair as dark as his own turned around and raised two fingers for the camera. She was wearing the same comb set he had just been fucking around with. Keith suppressed the urge to feel guilty. He already knew he was a shitty person.

 _Enoru maeni, chonboshi tabako shiyou?_ she said, making a downward motion at the holder of the camera. _Sono darana mono shimattoitegose. Bakuragatera, hando nomu?_ Shiro laughed and widened the focus. _Sure._ _Let’s decide what we’re going to eat while we’re at it_. The camera panned out to capture a red suspension bridge near the bench she was walking toward, and tall rocky cliffs behind that, summits obscured by mist. Keith browsed through a few more videos of what he guessed was some sort of vacation or trip, admiring the rocky shores Shiro filmed and pausing the tape at the mountainous watercolor sunsets. His mother was there too, traveling with him, sharing flavors of soft serve ice cream, acting as a guide and at times taking over as camerawoman so that a much more slender version of Shiro, without a hint of white in his hair, could chauffeur.

Keith bounced his legs up and down, enjoying himself vicariously. Their trip came to an end and he skipped forward a few months until a new person appeared in the thumbnail images. As usual, the first person to make an appearance was Shiro’s mother, hair fashioned into a freshly cut bob. _Kocchi kuu dawa,_ she tittered. _Sore, kashite. Hatashite kogena hansamuna musukoga iru? Handsome gaa?_

 _Sure is_. The camera flipped around and refocused on Shiro, clad in a traffic-cone orange cadet uniform with a similarly ginger-haired woman wrapped round his middle. Shiro pulled her embarrassingly close and Keith felt flames lick his cheeks.

He skipped forward a few more months and found Shiro’s mother again, this time looking slightly weathered, and with a new, wispy streak of snow-white hair at her temple. She smiled and Shiro turned the camera back to his own face, cheek to cheek with a green-eyed man hovering over the lit candles of a cake. _Happy birthday_ , he said, pressing a kiss to the flushed man’s temple. Keith skipped forward again and again, flashing through years of Shiro’s life in the blink of an eye, coming face to face with past lover after past lover. Rich waves of finesse rolled from Shiro like music over dark water, and although Keith had always instinctively known that Shiro was a man in high demand, coming face to face with that fact filled him with an awful, ominous emotion, one that emulated jealousy but simultaneously was not—because why would Shiro, who owned nearly nothing, who claimed to need Keith and Keith only, deign to keep something like this?

More saliently, Keith realized, as the moments flew by, there was no one lover that resembled another—they were tall and short, thin and thick, tanned and pale, so a less shrewd person might be inclined to say that Shiro didn’t have a _type_ per se, but oh, Keith knew better. Every person he could see on Shiro’s young arm, was 10 out 10 _beautiful_ , a perfect complement to the man himself.

The only exception to the pattern was Keith. And that notion, the idea that Keith was not a person Shiro otherwise would have chosen for himself, was so foreboding Keith may as well have been watching a nightmare.

Shiro’s partners stopped cycling around the halfway mark, and for the remainder of the library Keith watched Shiro share milestones with a willowy woman, one with strawberry-brown hair. There they were through Shiro’s many promotions; there they were at Yosemite; there they were, happy, as her belly started to swell, subtle at first and then all too fast. Shiro had an ear to the bump and Keith stopped the tape, because he was both angry and self-satisfied that Shiro never once mentioned this...because he was murderously _something_...because he was violently sad. Shiro’s mother smiled back at him from over her son’s shoulder. The bone-white strip of hair had gradually consumed nearly her entire head, and now only a few dark strands at the crown remained. Keith took a deep breath. There was only one video left in the library, and he couldn’t allow himself to lose to this, so. A wave of his hand started the final tape.

 _Shiro, what’s this?_ The camera was pointed at the ground, but Keith knew that voice well. Allura.

 _It’s a video diary_ , replied Shiro, distant. _You can have it if you want._ The camera swiveled up and side to side, capturing the empty hall of the apartment Keith was sitting in. The apartment on the projected screen contained even less than it did at present: Shiro was moving in. Allura carried the diary out to the kitchen and Shiro slid into view, long unshorn hair pulled back into a ponytail and white bangs pinned out of his face.

 _I wouldn’t knowingly do that,_ she protested. _Steal things from you, I mean_. Shiro said nothing, just tapped away at the controls of his communicator as she crept closer.

 _What?_ he finally asked, once she was close enough to grab at her nose. Allura squealed and jumped away. _You finally ready to learn how to dance?_

Keith could tell Allura was shaking her head from the vigorous bobbing of the screen. _I want nothing to do with that...strange posturing you people call_ dancing. Shiro just laughed and turned back to his comm.

 _You’re going to marry a man who loves to dance,_ he declared with a nod. _That’s the irony of the situation. Then you’ll change your tune_.

 _I have full control over that_ , Allura huffed.

Shiro’s smile twitched. _No, you don’t_.

 _In_ any _case,_ Allura heaved, pacing back up to him, _I’m still waiting for you to tell me how you plan to find your boy. Can’t we just look him up in the directory? Earthlings do have directories, don’t they?_

_We can’t._

_And why not?_

_Because he’s a Doe,_ Shiro said, exasperated. _You can’t just look a Doe up in the directory, it’s a government name. There’s literal millions of them, you need their birth date or social security ID to find any particular one. Neither of which I have._

Allura hummed doubtfully. _I don’t know. How many Keith Does could there be in this one city?_

Shiro easily made the search from his comm. _Eight hundred and eighty-seven. And I’m not a cop or anything, so I can’t view their SSID images. But even if I were to go down this list making house calls, for some reason I don’t think he has a listed address._

 _...You don’t even know if he’s still here, Shiro,_ Allura stressed, slowly lowering the diary. _I know how it is, but can’t you try to let go?_

 _No,_ Shiro breathed, the way Keith had grown accustomed to, with all the unearthly wisdom of an old man in the last stages of his life. _I love him. ...At least, I will._ He fiddled with the comm a bit more before facing her straight on for the first time. His eyes had a watery sheen. _Promise me you’ll take him with you._ A rueful laugh. _And delete that fucking video._

 _Oh, Shiro_ , Allura broke, and the projection went dark.

Keith wished to hell that he’d never gone poking around.

*

“You’ve been quiet,” Hunk said, screwing the lid back onto his jar of dijon mustard. “Something up?”

Keith stared him down from his position on Lance’s carpet between Allura’s feet, where he’d been for the lesser part of an hour as she plaited his hair. Pidge was having fun with a bottle of glitter nail polish at his bare feet. “No.” Hunk let it go, went back to the sandwich he was crafting. Lance wasn’t so easy to deter.

“No need to pry, Hunk, I already know what’s wrong with Keith,” Lance called his perch next to Allura. Keith twisted around as well as he could with Allura holding his hair like a pair of reins and Lance waggled his eyebrows from the high ground. “No Shiro for over two weeks.”

“Stop moving,” Pidge complained, much to Keith’s chagrin.

“I’ve lived without him for over twenty-one years,” he stated, trying to bore holes into Lance’s skull with his eyes. “A few weeks isn’t going to kill me.” Allura yanked his head straight.

Hunk was opening drawers in search of a kitchen knife. “How’s he doing, anyway?”

Keith pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do we have to talk about this?”

“No reason, we just haven’t heard back from him in a while in the group chat,” Pidge said, conversationally. She dipped the nail brush and moved on to his other foot. “We all know he talks to you. Don’t be selfish.”

“He talks to Allura too,” Keith countered, crossing his arms.

“Not like he talks to you.” He couldn’t see her, but there was a sly smile in every syllable. “He misreplied to one of my messages last week. I woke up to a text that read ‘You awake, honeybee?’ and a little black-and-yellow insect emoji with a bunch of rainbow hearts–”

“To ANSWER your QUESTION,” Keith shouted over the rapidly rising sea of snickering, “he’s _fine_ , probably, he’s still off-planet so what the fuck do I even know?”

Pidge sympathetically shook her head at Lance, who Keith could hear was frantically tamping down fits of laughter. “He’s got it so bad.”

Hunk toed over Keith’s outstretched legs and dropped himself into a faded armchair. “He told you where he knows you from yet?”

Keith was speechless for a good bit. “He told _you_?”

“It’s not even a big deal,” Hunk said, surprised. “I mean, he didn’t mention any details, but still. He should just tell you.”

“Listen, man, don’t let that cheese you.” Lance set a cheeky foot on Keith’s shoulder, but it was in good faith. Keith opted not to shrug him off just yet. “I’ve seen you black out high or drunk a bunch of times and you never remember what happened after the fact. Especially if you hadn’t had anything to eat. But a little bit always comes back eventually, right? You just gotta give it more time.”

“Yeah, I,” Keith mumbled, as Allura tied off his fishtail braid, “I guess.”

Lance waggled his foot in satisfaction. “So, while we’re on the topic of gossip, tell Papa Lance: how are things, apart from that?” He pressed his toes to Keith’s cheek. “Your body holding up all right?”

Keith finally smacked him off. “The hell kind of question is that?!”

“Stop moving,” vexed Pidge. “He’s asking about your sex life.”

“I’m asking about your sex life,” Lance affirmed, straightening his knees by Keith’s ear. “We’ve all seen the way Shiro eats an orange. We know the dude fucks.”

“Lance,” Allura scolded, but it was suspiciously half-hearted.

Keith raised a threatening fist as Lance tried to use him as a footrest again. “Even if I _wanted_ to give a straight answer to that question, I got nothing to say. Shiro doesn’t even really want to. If I wanted something, I’d have to try and initiate it myself.”

“Can’t blame him,” scoffed Lance, clearly feeling rejected. “You’re ice cold. Nobody wants something frigid. If you want dinner you have to heat it up first, Keith.”

“Aren’t they dating?” Hunk said. “Come on. It’s gotta be at least lukewarm.”

Keith just glared at the floor. “I’m not... _frigid_.”

“Plus you could stand to do with an upgrade, if you know what I mean,” Lance continued. “You’re like a five. Especially next to Shiro. How he found a dumpster fire like you attractive I will _never_ know.”

“Ha,” snorted Pidge, putting the finishing touches on his last toe and facing away from Hunk’s unsettled expression. “Attractive from the waist down, you mean.”

Keith shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“You two are _mean_ ,” Allura said, in wonder as if she’d just realized that. “Aren’t you supposed to be his friends?”

Keith felt Lance shrug through the seat cushion at his back. “We are his friends. If we don’t keep him humble, who will?”

Allura’s nimble fingers carved through the hair at his ears, smoothing the flyaways. “I assure you, Keith doesn’t need humbling.”

“Unlike me?”

“Unlike you.”

Hunk and Pidge were giving the two of them a funny look over Keith’s head. Pidge cleared her throat just as he was about to turn around and see what they were looking at. “Allura, there’s actually something I’ve been meaning to ask you. I mean, I’d ask Shiro, but somehow I don’t feel like it’s appropriate?”

Allura gave Keith a pat and he scooted out of her way. “And what could that be?” she inquired, floating over to Lance’s fridge for a glass of chilled wine.

A beat passed. “Whatever happened to Shiro’s fiancée?”

Allura paused mid-pour and looked first at Keith, then at Pidge. Keith was an expressive person, so his face probably said it all: _fiancée?_ “He’s...never been married, if that’s what you’re asking.” Keith felt a knot of indeterminable size forming between his eyebrows.

“No,” Pidge said, missing her cue, “I guessed that. But what happened to her? She was such a nice lady. Dad and Matt invited them over for dinner all the time, and before launch everything seemed to be going great, but I haven’t heard him mention her once since getting back.”

“I imagine he wouldn’t,” Allura returned, curt. “Considering.” Toting her glass by the rim, she returned to her former position behind Keith, casually laying both legs over his shoulders. Her calves were warm, and protectively heavy. “In any case, I don’t know the woman. Look her up, if you’re curious.”

“I wouldn’t do that without knowing what happened. Are you sure you’ve never ‘seen’ her?” Pidge pushed, capping the nail polish and fanning Keith’s toes with her hand. “She was a little taller than me, with really long brown hair, and a mole under her lip.” The. The woman with the growing bump. Keith craned his neck back at Allura, who was pressed flush to  Lance. Now Keith had _two_ reasons to panic. Allura shook her head at him and stroked his braid reassuringly.

Hunk cut in with some effort. “Maybe you should just ask Sh—”

“It’s over and they’re not together anymore. That’s the whole story.” Allura squeezed Keith’s hair. “Don’t ask him about it.”

“Oh.” Pidge looked away. “Okay.” It wasn’t the whole story, she knew it, Keith knew it, but it would have to wait until later.

“...So, how about it, Hunk,” Lance stilted, coarsely but effectively booting the conversation forward and forcing Hunk into a dialogue he didn’t want to have. “Any luck with a special lady friend of your own?”

Keith pulled away from Allura to hug his knees as Pidge leaned down to blow on his feet. “I didn’t know Shiro used to be engaged.”

“Yeah. But it was a while ago, I guess.” She unzipped her bag to find the clear coat. “Anyway, what about the now? I mean, what’s your deal? Do you have like a five-year plan, or what?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Is marriage something you want for yourself? I’m asking you in general.” Pidge swiped off the excess fluid and started on his right. “And if so do you think you’d want it with Shiro?”

Keith hesitated, knowing Allura was listening in. “It’s kind of early to be thinking about that.”

Pidge made a face, then decided on, “Well, do you love him?”

Love, Keith thought. Shiro used words like that, sometimes. He was sorry he didn’t know what it was; such an ordinary word that people threw around all the time. Shiro shouldn’t have an ordinary word like that applied to his person. Shiro was...Shiro was _everything_. Keith bit the inside of his cheek. “I...don’t know.”

Pidge paused her ministrations. “Maybe it’s good that Shiro’s gone for a while.” She reared back to admire her handiwork. “Now you have time to figure out what it is you want.”

“What does that mean?” Keith demanded, affronted at something he couldn’t grasp.

“I mean, what is it that you want?” Pidge reiterated, keeping her voice low as to not distract Lance and Hunk from their own exchange. “Do you want Shiro, or do you just want somebody to kiss?” Keith had nothing to say to that, so she plodded on. “Look, I’m not trying to mess with you or make you mad. And, I might be planting something that Shiro would hate me for. But if you don’t really want to be with him, and I’m not saying you don’t, then you should break up with him. He wouldn’t want you to leave, but he’d understand it was best.” Allura’s bare feet descended firmly upon his shoulder blades.

“I understand what you’re saying,” Keith muttered after taking a moment to breathe, “but it’s not what I want.”

“Fine, but why? Because he’s the only person that’s ever given you a funny feeling in your pants? There’s literal trillions of people in the universe, Keith, you don’t have to settle,” Pidge said to his ankles. “I love Shiro, but I want what’s best for you too, you know?”

“Yeah, but–” Keith cut himself off. That wasn’t it. It was because Keith _had_ laid eyes on millions of people in his lifetime, and he’d never been satisfied with anyone who wasn’t Shiro. Maybe that wasn’t enough? Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be. Pidge looked up when he failed to continue the aborted sentence and Keith wet his throat. “...Never mind. Maybe you’re right.”

 

“Don’t hurt him,” Allura said, just before leaving with Hunk that night.

Keith didn’t blink as she entered the boundary of his personal bubble. “What?”

“When Shiro first found you and brought you to me, when you really showed up like he said you would and when he said you rejected him, I said, _good_.” Allura closed a hand around her wrist. “ _Good_ , he doesn’t want you. Now do yourself a favor and put him right back where you found him, we’ll find another way to do this. He said there was no other way, and if there was we weren’t going to take it.” She anxiously twisted her own arm. “You are the one that chose Shiro, whether you remember it or not. I’m sure of it. And I don’t want...bad thoughts, in your head, because in spite of everything I know Shiro loves you. So do I. You’re all family to me, now. You know that, right?”

“I know,” said Keith.

“I’ll see you later,” she smiled, and disappeared through the front door.

*

“I’ve been thinking,” Shiro airily hummed from his place at the standing controls of the space pod. “When the weather warms up, I mean _really_ warms up, we should drive down south together. Go to the beach.” His hologram tread the tile across from Keith, who was seated at the kitchen counter, listlessly picking at a near-full box of chocolates he’d bought for himself earlier that night on the way home from Lance’s apartment. Pidge wasn’t home yet, having stayed behind to play games on Lance’s brand-new VR console. “It’d be your first time to the ocean, right?”

“Yeah,” said Keith, disinterestedly crushing the thin, corrugated cardboard of the box’s second lid between his thumb and forefinger.

Shiro spared him a glance away from the invisible controls. It was the latest in a string of one-word answers from Keith that had begun essentially the moment the call connected. “...You don’t want to go?”

“No.” Keith languidly bit into another chocolate and let a thick strand of caramel stretch from his lips. “Let’s go.”

“...I was thinking we could take my car and rent a cabin,” Shiro continued, slowly, watching Keith ignore him. “I’ve heard good things about the ones down by–”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a fiancée?” Keith asked, setting the remainder of the chocolate on his tongue and pointedly sucking the melt from each finger as he stared the hologram down. Shiro’s eyes grew wider with every passing second.

“I,” he finally chose, “thought it was unpleasant and irrelevant. Who...no, _how_ did you—”

“Who ended it?” Keith demanded. “You or her?”

Shiro blinked. _Twice_. “Her.”

“ _Don’t_ lie to me,” Keith snarled, slithering down from his stool and stalking right up to holo-Shiro’s face as every horrible, ugly emotion he’d suppressed over the past few days began to rip free, crashing out of him all at once. “You never lie to me. _Why did you_ _lie?”_

“Engage autopilot,” Shiro quietly said to the side. A assured, computerized voice acknowledged the request. _Autopilot engaged._

Keith’s hackles flew sky-high at Shiro’s avoidance, and the _magic_ he so loved to cast gurgled angry in his throat, spewing from his mouth not in the form of a spell, but a curse. “ _Who ended it?!_ ”

“Me,” answered Shiro, sudden and startled. “Before I left on my research mission.” Unfortunately, that answer didn’t make it any better.

Keith kept Shiro glued to that spot with a scowl for several thousand-pound seconds, blowing a stray lock of hair from his face when he eventually turned to prowl away. “I found your old video diary.”

Shiro pitched to the side in the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have let you look around.” Not a supposition. A fact, for sure. “I didn’t think you would get so...jealous.”

“You are so goddamn hard to pin down, you know that?” Keith plucked up the box and tossed another, _bitter_ sweet in his mouth before slapping the carton back down. Chocolate spilled over the rim, the round ones rolling across the counter and over the edge. “And so... _fucking_...why–why are you even with me, uh? What do you get out of this?” He gestured frivolously to the imagined space between them, to the imagined conflict. “What’s your deal, am I–am I a project or what? Is that what this is?” It was what the raw and inflamed part of Keith wanted it to be. “And I don't want the bullshit, diplomatic answer you’re about to give, I want a real fucking–”

“Jesus _Christ_ , _Keith_ , I’m with you because I _love_ you,” Shiro flared, and despite his scoff, Keith was almost relieved to finally get a real rise out of him. Almost. Keith didn’t believe what he’d said. Shiro couldn’t love him, after all. Not with _any_ kind of history. Especially a very literal _prior engagement._

Keith had been very naive to blindly trust that he had been Shiro’s first. Everything pointed to the contrary, in fact–Shiro had indeed referenced having more experience than Keith when they had to talk about relationships, about sex–but somehow when pressed for an explanation, Keith’s brain had supplied a fairytale in which Shiro’s so-called experience was anything but first-hand. And despite the fact that Keith had been socialized to find sequential monogamy acceptable, that consciously he thought it normal, when it came to Shiro things were _different_ because Shiro was supposed to be _his_ , yet never had been. Shiro had decidedly given parts of his soul to another, treacherous lover.

It was a type of infidelity: used goods, _missing parts_ , Shiro had left a physical piece of himself with and _in_ someone else, for Christ’s sake, _he’d had a baby!_ The half of Keith that knew these thoughts were inequitable was the same half that couldn’t let go of Shiro, not now, not ever. The other half of Keith wanted to crush him for his retroactive disloyalty; wanted to throw him away.

“Keith! Are you listening to me?!” Shiro was shaking, probably because he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why Keith was so furious with him, but Keith couldn’t voice it. There was no way. “What motivation do you think I have? I don’t want anything _from_ you, I want _you_ , because I’m in fucking _love_ with you and that’s how it _works_ , baby! I try not to mention that fact, since it’s not mutual, and since you didn’t exactly like it the first time I did.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Keith shot back. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t _have_ to.” Shiro said. The hologram outstretched its glowing arms like wings. An invitation, and a plea: _stop this. Come back to me._ To his lover, a liar. _No_. “I _noticed_ , because that’s what adults _do_ , they pay attention and _talk_ to their boyfriend instead of cornering them like a–”

“I’m not your _stupid_ boyfriend.” _Fuck Shiro_ , _fuck_ his useless attempts to distract Keith from his anger– _fuck_ his miserable _anger_ , because Keith didn’t even understand where it was coming from; not the betrayal erupting like lava from the deep, dormant place it had shaken itself awake, nor his unspilled tears, pricking at the backs of Keith's eyes and demanding adjournment. A small, rational sub-compartment of his mind was screaming at him that this was lunacy, _listen to yourself, Shiro’s done nothing wrong,_ but _the rest of him!_ was already days into a rancorous witch-hunt– _traitor_ –torches lit and knives sharp, searching for vulnerable skin upon which to carve his scarlet letter. _How could you do this to me? How could you not give all of yourself to me when you promised that you would?_ “You never had that conversation with me. I never said yes to that. We’re in some sort of relationship, _fine_ , but you didn’t ever specify what kind.”

“Keith,” Shiro said, in disbelief. “You used that word yourself. Just before I left, you–”

“I didn’t. Give up.” And Shiro did give up, resigning himself both to silence and the dark truth that his Keith could not be trusted, visibly digesting the situation with fists balled and shoulders screwed up tight by his ears. Keith, in his temporary cruelty, determined that he couldn’t let Shiro steel himself for his next hit. “What would you say if I said I was done with you?”

The hologram phased white. “I...What?” Keith shrugged one shoulder and Shiro swallowed hard. “I. Would say that I want what’s best for you, and what’s best for you is whatever makes you happy.” He wet his lips and was quiet for a long moment, continuing after a full breath. “I would also say that if you...were thinking about _leaving_ me, then I’d hope you wouldn’t decide something like that before I came home after being away for a while. I would tell you that right now, I don’t know whether you’re trying to...to piss me off or break my heart or what, but...I forgive you for it. But the last thing I’d tell you, Keith, since you’ve apparently got it all figured out?” Keith started at the disillusioned look on Shiro’s digitized face. When he spoke, his voice was at half volume. “Is not to look at me like you love me if you’ve decided you don’t. Disengage autopilot.”

 _Autopilot disengaged_ , confirmed the ship.

 _Wait_ , Keith reeled. “Shiro,” he called, the word cracking, but Shiro hung up, breaking the illusion and leaving Keith alone in the midst of the hateful mess he’d created. Spooked, he grabbed his comm and punched the redial, but the connection was denied. _No signal._ That’s right; the network was patchy, near the boundary of the solar system. Loose hair fell into his eyes as Keith stared down at the useless device, and, overwrought, he opened a drawer, yanked out a pair of meat scissors, shook his hair free of Allura’s plait and sawed the damn shit off.

He regretted the decision immediately, liquid fury blurring his vision and streaming down his cheeks. _Your hair, it’s getting so long. I like it_.

Keith didn’t know what exactly he was upset about anymore.

Himself, maybe. The lingering stormclouds. His reasons for shouting at Shiro that didn’t seem so defensible, anymore. The clipped hair surrounding him, the half-melted chocolate that was supposed to make him feel _better_ ; his _damnable_ feelings for Shiro that wouldn’t go away, not even when he was angry. The encroaching realization that he’d just taken away something that Shiro loved.

He’d made a mistake. Keith certainly shouldn’t have brought this up at all; or if he did, he should have waited, until Shiro was as close as Keith wished he were right now–until Shiro could have physically pulled Keith to his chest in feather-soft reassurance and namelessly understood whatever irreconcilable toxicity this was, leaking from his eyes like seepage from an open wound. If Shiro would even want to do such a thing, after hearing Keith try to hurt him like the evil thing he now knew himself to be. If Shiro would even come looking for him, when he finally came home.

Keith wiped up the mess on his face and that on the floor before finding his keys.

*

Shiro arrived home late morning three days later.

First was his keycard at the door, then his muffled footsteps in the entryway. He had to know Keith was present (his shoes were beside the door, after all), but if he did, he didn’t show it, heading instead for the laundry closet and not his bedroom where Keith lay awake. Keith screwed his eyes shut again and tried not to think about making another mistake in coming here while Shiro moved around the sparsely decorated apartment. They snapped back open with a lurch as strong arms slid under him without warning. Shiro lifted him effortlessly, the loose sheets Keith was wrapped in hanging from his dangling legs like a bridal dress.

“How many days was I away?” Shiro asked, without a hint of prejudice.

Keith made firm his grip on Shiro’s shoulders before meeting his eyes. “Twenty-three.”

“That’s a lot to make up for.” Shiro slipped Keith into the crook of his metal arm, sliding a firm, supporting hand around the nape of his neck without comment on his shortened hair. “Count for me.” And Keith did count; counted twenty-three soft and unhurried kisses, then twenty-four, and twenty-five, and when Shiro finally lowered him back down onto the edge of the bed Keith’s head was spinning too fast to remember just where it’d been that he’d lost count. He gripped Shiro’s human forearm with both hands as Shiro reached into his black bag to show Keith what he’d brought home for him this time: a little bag of Altean snacks and a glass jar of stardust, a bit of which Keith was certain had gotten caught in the shimmering white strands of Shiro’s hair. Shiro pulled his arm free to put the container in Keith’s hands instead, stacking new, chaste kisses over his cheeks and forehead, and everything was right in the world.

Shiro was home. Shiro still wanted him. And Shiro had forgiven him, without so much as an apology. Keith moved the glowing jar to the nightstand and pulled Shiro forward into bed.

“You put the cornbread in the fridge,” Shiro whispered into his clavicle. “The biggest piece I’ve ever seen.”

“I made it for you to begin with,” Keith said with faux nonchalance. “I wouldn’t actually go and eat it all without you.”

“And you stocked the pantry,” continued Shiro, in awe. “Bought fresh milk and everything.”

Keith tightened his arms around Shiro’s neck, rolled them onto their sides. “Yeah. Now you can actually cook.”

“You _cleared_ the pantry, too,” sighed Shiro, and Keith felt a blush gathering on his cheeks. He wasn’t about to admit to Shiro that he’d been living there in the apartment since their confrontation, hoping to meet him the instant he came home, and was struck halfway through the first day with an itch for some sense of atonement. He’d first had the idea to make Shiro some more food, then remembered the empty refrigerator and thought to go grocery shopping–but of course there was no use shopping for groceries with no place to put them. Keith spent a well-intentioned hour carefully packing empty liquor bottle after empty liquor bottle into city recycling bags, loading them into his arms two at a time and wearing Shiro’s much-too-big trainers down to the curbside drop-off. Tripping around in the black and yellow sneakers did something unspeakable to Keith’s maturing libido, but mostly they just made him miss Shiro more than he already did.

“Yeah.” He nudged forward until Shiro’s nose was against his cheek. “I cleared the pantry, too.” Shiro groaned and Keith nuzzled him with feeling, uncaring of the short, sandpapery stubble Shiro was sporting and concentrating instead on the rich and intoxicating scent of his musk.

Shiro used his strength on him briefly, squeezing him so hard it almost hurt. His mouth shaped Keith’s name, but his arms said, _I adore you_. God, _yes._

“I want to smell like you,” Keith intimated, pushing up the rim of Shiro’s tight shirt and getting his fingers into the crease between his pectorals, the furry crooks of his underarms. Shiro helped him work the rest of the garment off, trailing his knuckles down the line of Keith’s bare spine as their chests came together once again.

“I smell disgusting,” Shiro protested, kissing Keith through a smile. “If you hadn’t noticed.”

Keith pushed a thigh up over Shiro’s hip and creasing the sheet over the bare skin underneath. “I can’t help what I like.” Shiro took up his knee at the invitation, holding it fast with his nonmechanical arm.

“You’re so good to me, baby,” he susurrated. Keith swelled at the praise, wanted to hear more. “So sweet to me.”

He kissed Shiro again, slipping his tongue past his lips. “You know I want to be perfect for you, Shiro.” It wasn’t a lie.

“You _are_.” Shiro let Keith guide his hand higher under the sheet. “You’re fucking flawless, you’re…” He broke away, to Keith’s surprise and disappointment. “...You’re naked.”

Keith wasn’t sure if he was meant to be bashful or nonchalant. “...Yeah. I mean. Yes.” Shiro didn’t respond. “Sorry, I’m...what’s–what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just.” Shiro hadn’t moved, neither toward Keith nor away. “You just surprised me, is all.” Unwilling to let the mood slip away, Keith grasped the wrist on his hip and slid it underneath his ass, curling Shiro’s fingers to fit the curve. Shiro was forced to let out the breath he was holding as Keith kissed him again, wetter this time. Long fingers gripped the cheek in Shiro’s hand, tensing with every small movement of Keith’s hips on his. Keith’s bare half-erection knocked the rock-solid mountain in the front of Shiro’s semi-stretch pants.

“Already?” Keith pressed deeper into Shiro’s mouth, massaging his crotch with a knee. “Are you horny?” Shiro didn’t respond, preoccupied with Keith’s mouth, but there was an attesting twitch under his belt. “When was the last time you jerked off?”

“Don’t know,” Shiro muttered, distractedly. “It’s been a little while. I’ve been busy.”

Keith used his teeth to tug at his lower lip. “I need to try harder, then?”

“Didn’t say that.” Shiro’s other hand traveled to the second globe of his ass and Keith sighed. “I haven’t even had time to shower for the past few days.”

“Is that where you do it?” Keith rolled them until he was bent forward over Shiro, lips together. “In the shower?” He spread his knees and straddled Shiro’s hips, luxuriating in how wide his thighs were spread to accommodate Shiro’s width. Thighs hit hipbones and Shiro moaned, soft and stifled, as Keith ground the ass in his hands in circles over his restrained cock. “Easy cleanup. I like that.”

“I swear I’m never this easy.” Shiro inhaled sharply as Keith worked him over. “You’re the only one that does this to me.” Keith grimaced. The spell he’d been trying to cast was a dud. Of all the things he didn’t want to think of in bed, it was the people who had been in his current position with Shiro before.

He moved a little slower, a little more sensuously, running his hands over the supple muscle of Shiro’s chest, trying to make him forget. “Do you want to...?” He found himself waiting longer than expected for a response, Shiro staring down at where their hips interlocked. He didn’t agree, but he didn’t disagree, either. Even if Keith had been the one to start this as usual, he wished Shiro would just do _something._ He opted to act on maintaining the current illusion instead of waiting any longer for an answer–that is, the illusion that Keith was actually in the submissive position right now, one hand-crafted to encourage Shiro into taking charge as a service to Keith, which by now it honestly would be. And to that end, Keith thought, even if he lacked any of the positive aspects of experience, he could still succeed in making Shiro feel like a man—in making Shiro genuinely want him enough to give Keith the kind of physical affection his body was throbbing for.

Keith took Shiro’s hands off of him and moved them to his hair, kissing away from his mouth and down the pillar of his neck. Shiro’s eyes closed again, the rise and fall of his chest quickening under Keith’s attentive mouth. He blew warm breath over Shiro’s taut stomach and dragged his tongue through the thick trail of short hair below his belly button before snapping open the fly of his pants.

“Keith–” Shiro sat up on his elbows with a jolt, and Keith remembered finally that Shiro hadn’t wanted this the last time they were intimate, but too late–his cock had already bounced free, Keith was near cross-eyed looking at it so close to his face, and—

“It’s, um,” Keith said, consternated. “It’s different from mine.”

Shiro’s reaction was unnaturally mild as he scooted backward to lean against the pillows at the headboard. “...Is it?” He didn’t say anything when Keith made questioning eye contact, nor when he crawled forward and took Shiro properly in hand, receiving a small groan for his effort as he dragged Shiro’s pants the rest of the way down his thighs.

Yeah, it was different; Shiro was smooth where Keith was ribbed; had one thick ridge under the head where Keith had several; Shiro’s tip blunted where Keith’s came to a point. It was different, but not in a bad way–and the best difference was that Shiro was _huge_ , and _thick_ , big enough to sink far inside Keith and hit the deep, sensitive spot he could now feel swelling whenever he touched himself. Keith could feel his ass and cock start to leak the way they did whenever he thought about Shiro fucking him, which was...well, increasingly often.

He stroked his hand down the shaft and the skin moved. “...Shiro?”

Shiro’s hand twitched where it still lay in Keith’s hair. “Mm?”

Keith didn’t know how to phrase it, so he settled on asking outright. “Are you circumcised?”

“No,” Shiro replied, more relieved than he ought to be at an embarrassing question like that. Still, though. Keith didn’t have a foreskin, could never remember having one. He’d never seen another dick. Maybe that explained it.

Curiosity sated, he stroked Shiro again in experiment, revelling at how he _still_ couldn’t close his hand around this dick, even when it was naked in front of him. “Is it...is it okay if I use my mouth?” Shiro hesitated again, but nodded, so Keith pulled his knees under him to continue where he left off, mouthing kisses into the coarse, musky hair surrounding the base and yanking Shiro’s pants off his ankles. He hit the base and dragged the flat of his tongue up to the head, pressed that through the tight seal of his lips, suckled gently. Shiro whimpered, surprising them both and gifting Keith with a surge of encouragement. He kissed the tip, the sides, the tip again, opened his mouth to take Shiro inside and oh, _please_ , he was so turned _on_ –the most sensitive part of Shiro was stretching his mouth open–was on his tongue–was jostling against his _teeth–_

Shiro sucked a screeching hiss through his teeth and accidentally kicked Keith in the rib. “ _Fu-!_ ”

Keith instantly spat him out, reeling in pain. “Shit, _shit_ , I’m so sor—”

“No–I’m sorry.” Shiro couldn’t look at him, both hands over his face. “I’m sorry I kicked you. I didn’t mean to, I just–”

Keith rubbed his bruised side and recomposed himself before bending back down. “Here, I’ll do it...better, this time–”

“ _No_ –” Shiro blocked the path of Keith’s face with a hand. “Don’t. Just–come up here, okay. You wanted to put it in, right?” Keith reluctantly elbowed himself up to face level and Shiro turned over, opening the nightstand drawer where Keith knew there was a variety box of condoms. He heard the seal break and Shiro rolled back over, tearing open the rubber in his hand and skillfully slipping it over the tip of Keith’s erection.

“I,” Keith started, without knowing how to finish. It wasn’t bad—not what he’d intended, but not bad. Shiro shot him a look as he rolled the condom down and Keith shook his head. The lube appeared next and even though it was silly, Keith was suddenly too modest to watch. Shiro put the tube away, reached behind him, and guided Keith's arms around to his front, interlacing their fingers as Keith was set flat against his muscular back.

Keith was nervous the entire time. He didn’t make a sound inside Shiro, but the silence was mutual. And, from that silence, he was able to come to a final, difficult understanding: although Shiro might have physically led him to this, it was for Keith’s benefit and Keith’s benefit alone.

Shiro had given him something he thought Keith wanted, but from the start his inaction had plainly said he didn’t want to be in bed with him.

Keith lost the will to continue and shakily pulled out. Slick spilled from the mouth of the condom as he tied it closed and tossed it into the small steel wastebasket on the far side of the bed. Shiro tipped onto his back and occupied himself with looking fixedly at the unmarred plaster of the ceiling until, dodging his avoidant eyes, Keith dared to speak.

“Did you, um...like it?”

Shiro didn’t nod, but. “Of course.” There was something tired in his face, when Keith gathered the courage to look. Keith curled into himself and Shiro started to rise from the bed. _No_. He caught Shiro’s elbow and Shiro resignedly lay back down. Keith wasn’t equipped to deal with feeling _this_ unwanted. Not coming from Shiro, at least. Not after Keith had developed a need for him.

He swallowed around the stone in his throat and clasped Shiro’s captive elbow with a second hand. “I’m sorry.” Shiro frowned at him.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Something.” Everything.

Shiro scratched the back of his neck. “Keith…don’t apologize if you haven’t done anything wrong.” Neither of them wanted to talk about this, but.

He took a well-needed deep breath. “I just wanted to have sex.” Shiro stiffened and Keith wished he could just…disappear. “I thought that’d be what you wanted too?”

He’d thought Shiro would be more evasive, but it was apparent that he had accepted this fate. “I don’t think you really understand what sex is, Keith.”

“What do you mean?” Keith let go of his knees and sat up a bit. “It’s supposed to be fun, in and out, everybody gets off, right?”

“It can be like that, yeah,” Shiro conceded, “but that’s...just fucking, it’s casual, it’s only one type of sex.”

“If it’s easy then why can’t we just do that?” Keith demanded, frustration welling up despite his embarrassment. “Why does everything have to be so damn complicated?!”

“Because I’m in _love with you_ , baby!” Shiro shouted, head finally snapping in Keith’s direction. “And you don’t love me.” He relaxed, reconciling himself with it. “...And I’m not sure you ever will.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I’m sorry, Shiro, are–” He released Shiro’s elbow, tried to inch himself a little further away. “...Are we okay?”

Shiro’s face collapsed when he saw Keith putting distance between them. “Keith, of course we are.” Keith had to fight to hold it together as Shiro began to reel him back in.

“I-Isn’t this a fight?”

“No,” Shiro reassured, tucking Keith’s face into his shoulder. “It’s not a fight. A fight is when we get upset with each other, and I’m not upset, so this isn’t that. I promise.” He rocked them a little, when Keith remained silent. “Keith, can we...” Keith pulled himself back to reality. “Can we watch a drama or something easy together, while you’re here? I haven’t seen you in almost a month. I was hoping I could just spend some time with you, to feel like things are normal again.”

Keith didn’t move his cheek from where it sat on Shiro’s shoulder. “We don’t have a TV.”

“Let’s go buy one, then. I have the money.” Keith couldn’t see him, but Shiro’s tone was so, tenderly hopeful. “Keith, come choose a TV with me.”

 

They ended up doing just that: buying a TV of all things, ordering delivery as they connected the wires, sharing a pizza and quietly watching a series of movies that were made for TV. There were two slices of pizza left by the time it started getting late. Shiro offered them to Keith, as another sort of olive branch, maybe, but Keith just couldn’t do it when Shiro asked him to stay.

“ _There_ you are. Where have you–” Pidge froze on her feet at the sight of him in the doorway. “Keith! What’s wrong?”

“I wish I didn’t like him so much, Pidge,” Keith choked, splaying a hand over his face and trying desperately not to sob. “He’s going to _leave me_.” Pidge immediately and understandably hauled him to their couch and soon Keith was somehow even more miserable, pleading with her not to call Shiro, that she couldn’t tell him about this, she just _couldn’t._

“Fine,” Pidge said, popping her shiny green communicator closed. “Then start talking.”

Keith couldn’t find words for his feelings no matter how hard she pressed, but he could tell her exactly what had happened: the first fight, the semi-second one, the way Shiro told him they were okay but they were definitely not, and he didn’t feel any better when Pidge had nothing to say but things he already knew. That he was emotionally unavailable, for one, and an idiot. Two, that he couldn’t change Shiro’s feelings, but if Shiro said he wasn’t leaving then there was no real reason to worry. Three, that she was also an idiot for having given him any advice. And four, definitely the most important: that Keith had problems in his heart that he needed to start dealing with on his own, ones that there was no way he could trust any one person to fix.

“The honeymoon’s really over, isn’t it?” she tried, bringing Keith a cup of lemon tea in an effort to lighten the mood, because as she’d already said, he was a mess. “I know it’s early, but take this and go to bed? You might feel less shitty in the morning.” He sure hoped so. “Don’t worry, Keith. It’ll be all right.”

 

Keith fell asleep with Shiro’s name in his mouth, clutching his pillows and uselessly wishing they were his body and not a room-temperature mass of acrylic fibers. His dreams were artificial in the same sense; with the same tacky texture of something unnatural, produced by a mind not his own.

Shiro, bowed at his feet, left hand around Keith’s ankle and holding him tight.

 _It’s okay_ , he rasped, nails digging into the bone. _It’s okay._ Keith reached for his other, metal hand and found it was gone. _I, love you_.

Shiro’s eyes slid closed and the blotch of white at the top of his head spread like changing leaves throughout the remainder of his hair. Keith saw his chest open like a flower, saw the snowy petals of a chrysanthemum inside the gap–Shiro was gone.

 _No_.

He was there again, just beside that white, four-rotator bike, and he looked so _young_ without his scar, or prosthetic, or a single blanched strand in his brown-black hair. Keith had found the glint of his steel eyes among a tumultuous crowd and was weaving his way over without a care what someone might do to his own little red bike, the one he’d just abandoned in pursuit.

Shiro’s face was a thousand times larger in an instant. He smiled gently down at Keith, who tightened his grip on the front of Shiro’s plain black T-shirt, grasping the silver dog tags that brushed his chin. A large, graceful hand hesitantly descended on his back. Shiro’s smile was soft, but his eyes were wide with fear. Keith could see himself reflected there, among the stars of the galaxy in his mirrorlike pupils.

His mind’s eye went black, but that was the feeling of Shiro’s mouth under his, and something else, something sour, dribbling down his chin.

 _What are you_ , Shiro asked, voice quavering in the darkness.

Keith heard himself speak. _I’m the love of your life._

 

Keith emerged from sleep slowly, then all at once–like drowning in reverse–feeling for his communicator before his vision was clear of sleep. _Shiro_.

His comm sat on the far side of the nightstand, metallic veneer glinting in a ray of weak sunlight. Keith’s bones were aching to to hear his voice, tell him good morning, tell him _I’m sorry_.

But Keith also knew, the longer he looked at his comm, that no amount of longing for Shiro would allow him to make that call, on that day.

And for that one day at least, Shiro didn’t call, either.

*

Things went back to normal, mostly, so Keith couldn’t complain. He couldn’t bring himself to visit Shiro at home, but they still saw each other almost daily, whether Shiro was checking up on him under the guise of observing Pidge’s progress on the last partition of the alien drive or they met up as a group at Lance or Hunk’s more spacious apartment. Their hiatus stretched longer and longer, but Allura didn’t seem to mind, what with all the time she seemed to be spending with _Lance_ –

(“What the actual _fuck_ , Lance,” Keith hissed. “How did you trick Allura into dating you?”

“I just took your advice,” said Lance in earnest. “I started being myself.”)

Keith was both horrified that he’d had any part in bringing this about and impressed that Lance had actually thought to take any of his advice. He was going to have to start watching his mouth, if it was going to become a trend.

Shiro casually brought up the idea of a double date no less than three (3) times. Keith put his foot down at that, but he wasn’t opposed to one of their usual group outings, so off the six of them went on a sunny day trip to the zoo. Allura enjoyed it less than expected.

(“Your zoos are depressing,” Allura complained, a bored look on her face as she considered five lions sleeping in a heap on a rock. “The animals’ entire lives revolve around food and pre-scheduled mating. Where is the enrichment? The entertainment?”

“For fuck’s sake, Allura, they’re _animals_ ,” Shiro cried from his sweet-scented place at Keith’s side. “Are they going to _complain_ that they get to eat and fuck? What do you expect them to do instead, learn embroidery? Make artisan cheeses?”)

In any case, Keith was relieved at the confirmation that life indeed went on.

Shiro called a couple of weeks after that to invite Keith to a sandwich shop a few blocks from his apartment. It would be their first time spending an extended period of time alone together since they’d... _bought the television_ , if Keith agreed to it. He’d already made excuses once or twice.

“Do you,” he said, taking the comm off speakerphone and retreating to his room where Pidge couldn’t lay eyes on him, “do you mean like a date, or…?”

“It’s not a date,” Shiro explained, waxing apologetic. “It’s work related. I need to check your progress in the workbook I gave you, and start you on a new textbook.”

“Oh,” said Keith. That was fair. “Sure. I can’t be there all day, though, I promised Pidge we’d hang out after her dentist appointment. She cracked the last partition around midnight and wants to show off.”

Shiro thought for a moment. “We could just do it at your place, then. If you don’t mind, that is.”

Keith didn’t mind, so Shiro showed up shortly after Pidge departed, books under one arm and coat under the other. Keith proffered one side of his face as a force of habit as Shiro came inside and enjoyed a familiar, staticky burst of pleasure in his gut when he received a warm kiss on his cheek. Shiro led the way to the counter bar, taking Keith’s hand once they were seated and promptly putting him at ease, rolling his knuckles back and forth under a thumb. Keith chanced a look and saw Shiro’s face was the same baby shade of pink his likely was. He smiled, if a little shy. Maybe Shiro was right. They really were okay.

“So.” Shiro started them off. “Let’s talk about the first unit. Can you summarize what you read?”

“It was about...how gravity bends space, affects the passage of time,” Keith answered, running his fingers through his uneven bangs.

“The _relative_ passage of time,” Shiro corrected. “That’s why it’s called the theory of relativity.”

“Okay, yeah, it would only be slowing for other people, but it would still be slowing.”

Shiro granted him that much. “All right. And as a pilot why do you need to know about space-time?”

“Because your ship’s gravity generator needs to be configured correctly?” Keith guessed. “Else you might come back from a voyage younger or older than everyone else on your planet. Especially if you’re orbiting some kind of celestial body.”

“Might be why I age so fast around you,” joked Shiro.

“Seven out of ten. Points awarded for originality.” Keith picked at a broken fingernail. “I see why Allura keeps you around.”

“Rude,” Shiro scolded. “But in any case, you’re right, so next let me give you some test problems and see how you–”

“Okay, but before that,” Keith interrupted, pulling out a second textbook. “I have a question. Questions.”

Shiro narrowed his eyes at the text. “That’s not one of yours.”

“No, it’s one of yours. Quantum Theory I.” Keith thumbed it open and started flipping to the section he wanted. “I pilfered it from your place while you were away. Got bored and wanted some light reading.”

“‘Light reading,’” Shiro parroted incredulously, as Keith turned the book and pointed at the relevant page with his middle finger, leaning forward on his barstool.

“I remember what you said, about hypothetical scenarios and various possibilities. And your textbook starts off talking about some of these possibilities, and which ones are most widely accepted–”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “And you want to know why the one I told you I was researching isn’t the most widely accepted.” Keith gave him a half-nod, half-shrug and he pulled the textbook toward him with renewed interest in the situation. “All right, the introduction part of the text is kind of meaningless in my opinion, but. I recall mentioning to you that we can measure and predict where we think particles will land, right? The equation we use to do that is called the Schrödinger equation. It basically tells us what the state of a system will be and how it will evolve over time...providing you know the system’s Hamiltonian...but that’s not important for this conversation.

What _is_ important is that, in the most widely accepted understanding, the Schrödinger equation only describes the wave function, which is what enables us to predict states, until we actually take a look and see if we were correct. At this point, the wave function is in what we call a superposition of several states, which would be all possible locations of the particle. After we observe the state, or location of the particle, we have to produce an entirely new wave function to represent the particle in alignment with the measurement result. All other possibilities are supposedly reduced to the one we observed, simply by force of us observing it. This is what we call the collapse of the wave function, and this entire construct is known as the Copenhagen interpretation.”

“Fine,” Keith said. “And what’s so wrong with it that you don’t like it?”

“There are only two ways a quantum system can develop,” Shiro replied. “Wave function collapse, or continuous progression as described by the Schrödinger equation, a.k.a. a fundamental tenet of quantum theory. And you know what wave function collapse is? Arbitrary and unexpected, which violates the Schrödinger equation. It’s not elegant, and it’s just not what you get if you apply the equation to mathematically describe the entire universe.”

He stopped short there and Keith tickled his shin with a bare foot. “...So what _do_ you get if you try to, ‘mathematically describe the universe’?”

Shiro groaned. “You get...the relative state formulation. The Many Worlds interpretation.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Yeah, it’s basically…” Shiro held his hands out, forming a sphere. “ _Basically_ , the superposition in this reality spreads whether we observe it or not.” He expanded the sphere. “To, the instrument we’re using to observe it, to us using the instrument we’re using to observe it, and so on and so forth until eventually it’s spread to the entire universe.” Shiro took a moment to admire the large imaginary globe he’d created with his hands. “Like the previous interpretation, there are ‘components,’ or various possible outcomes, for that superposition. Those outcomes manifest as parallel universes and all outcomes coexist simultaneously, but the universes don’t interact, so they aren’t aware of each other’s existence.”

“So there’s no evidence for that, then?” Keith asked, as Shiro abandoned his globe and took his hand again.

“Yes and no. You have to understand that all of these universes would exist like any other celestial body, as spheres that have the potential to create other spheres,” Shiro explained. “They’re all parts of the same overarching universe. So when we see abnormalities in our universe, like irregularities in cosmic radiation or black holes, one explanation for them is that there’s another, nearby universe, either benignly influencing or attacking our...own, Keith, are you seriously interested in this, or...?”

Keith rocked back in his seat. “I guess so. I like learning about what you like, what you’re interested in, what you used to do. That’s why I picked up the textbook. I figured it could help me get to know you a little better.” He squeezed Shiro’s long fingers. “And like I said before, it doesn’t hurt that I like listening to you talk.”

“Oh,” Shiro said, looking down at their joined hands and waxing pink again.

“Anyway,” Keith broke in, after the moment had run its course, “is that the sort of thing you went out to space for? Cosmic anomalies, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Shiro confirmed. “Though we weren’t looking for proof of the _multiverse_ , if that’s what you’re asking.”

Keith waited for some kind of elucidation, but Shiro was wearing the secretive half-smile he pulled out whenever Keith asked about their history. No good, then. He twisted up one corner of his mouth and squeezed Shiro’s hand again. “All right. How about people, then? Like you or me. Do we count? Like, if this is true, were there always a bunch of versions of me, or is there an original me that the rest branched off of?”

“Difficult to say,” Shiro confessed with a shake of his head. “Sorry. I don’t know.”

“What if I died?” Keith challenged, evoking a wince from Shiro. “No, really. Is that the end of me, or does every time I die split me again so there’s a version that keeps on living? Are all of these mes the same me, or are we different as a consequence of the constant splitting?”

Shiro wiped his metal hand over his face. “You’re getting into... _biocentrism_ and _quantum mind_ , which is... _difficult_ , Keith.”

“I thought you said I was a smart boy?”

“All right, to... _condense_ ,” Shiro sighed, “some people think that your consciousness is just information, stored at the quantum level, and space-time is just a tool your mind uses to interpret reality...which it creates.”

“Okay,” Keith said, slowly.

Shiro nodded once at him. “So, that would mean your mind exists outside of time and space. Ergo, it can exist anywhere...including outside your body.”

“Okay,” Keith said, for the second time.

“Okay,” repeated Shiro. “So, _some people_ subscribe to the idea that, after your body dies, your detached consciousness can be transferred. And by transferred I mean migrate, to another nearby and similar universe, and merge with the version of you that’s alive.”

Keith digested that. “And you wouldn’t know?”

“No,” Shiro said. “You wouldn’t know.” Keith was content with that, and with letting their silence run long and comfortable, but after a few moments Shiro obviously had something to say. “Keith...listen–”

Pidge came home just then.

“Hey,” Keith called, leaning over to see her around Shiro’s broad shoulders. “I thought you said the others were coming?”

“They were supposed to be,” she snarked. “Then Hunk had a customer come in, and _Lance_ said he and Allura were going to friggin’ _bachata_ and took a rain check.” She brightened at the sight of their visitor. “Oh, hey, Shiro. You wanna stay for the show?”

“Sure,” he answered, sparing her a short glance away from Keith. Whatever it was Shiro had been about to say, it seemed to be lost to the wind. Must not have been important. Keith tangled their fingers together and let Shiro walk him over to the couch as Pidge got a juice pack from the fridge.

She was sinking into the nearby beanbag chair not a minute later, cracking open the lid of her computer and hooking it up to the angular monstrosity that for months had been monopolizing the square footage of their living room floor. Shiro seemed more interested than Keith as she demonstrated access to all Alliance-designated servers, as well as those others partially delegated to the network. Her base of information now spanned at least sixty-three worlds separate from their own. It was difficult to not be at least a little impressed, even for Keith, who couldn’t really follow much of the dialogue between Pidge and Shiro as she hacked into another database.

“This is great work, Pidge,” Shiro praised, and Keith pretended he didn’t feel a certain selfish stab of jealousy at Shiro’s positive attention being directed at someone else for once. “Allura’s going to be over the moon about this.”

Keith had to agree with that. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

“Thanks,” Pidge beamed, logging off and letting the system go idle. “I can access any file you want. Any black marks on your records that need erasing?”

“None here,” said Shiro with a chuckle. “At least none that can be fixed with what you’ve got. Galra servers aren’t Alliance-affiliated. Keith?”

“I’ve never been caught with my pants down,” was all Keith had to say. It elicited another laugh from Shiro, if nothing else.

“You sure?” Pidge lifted an eyebrow high. “I have near-ultimate power here, you know. I could get into the Academy, delete your files. You could reapply with a clean slate, if that’s still what you want to do.”

It wasn’t, but even if it was. “It wouldn’t matter,” Keith returned, decisively. “I didn’t flunk anything the first time around, so why should the second be any different?”

“‘Didn’t flunk anything’,” Pidge imitated, punctuating her mimickry with air quotes. “So he claims.”

“I did _not_ ,” Keith snapped, “ _fail_ anything. I passed all the tests with full marks: the fitness assessment, the physical, the eye exams, the aptitude—”

“Eye exam _s_?” echoed Pidge. “With an S? Are there multiple?”

Shiro stretched, blithely laying an arm across Keith’s shoulders as if all of them hadn’t seen that move a hundred times. “There’s only two. A visual acuity test, where you read progressively smaller sets of letters, and a color blindness examination.”

“You mean the ones with the bubbles that spell out numbers in different colors, right?” Pidge inquired. “And there’s a proctor that takes your mark?”

“No,” Shiro disclosed, drawing Keith closer until their hips touched. “The Academy’s version of the exam is fully computerized. You’re given a black-and-white line drawing on a touchscreen and a variety of the colors on the visual spectrum to color it in with. The answers to which colors go where are meant to be intuitive, though I don’t know which picture—”

“It was a wheelbarrow full of carrots,” Keith said. “In a meadow, with a bunch of flowers in the grass. The wheelbarrow was red, the carrots were orange, the sun was yellow, the grass was green, the flowers were blue, and the sky was violet.”

Shiro looked down at him curiously. “You mean the sky was blue and the flowers were violet.”

“No.” Keith stood his ground. “The flowers were blue.”

“Keith,” Pidge said, smiling nervously. “The sky is _blue_.”

“Okay, everyone _says_ that, but you know it’s not _really_ ,” Keith insisted, looking from her to Shiro and back again. “It’s—it’s like how everyone says roses are red, violets are blue—violets aren’t actually blue, it’s just an old saying. The sky is the same, right?”

“Keith,” Shiro said his name just as Pidge had, but his face was serious. “What color is the ocean?” Keith stared up at him and felt his lip quiver. Shiro stilled it with a thumb and he found himself having to look away.

“...Violet.”

Shiro let go and motioned for Pidge to bring him her computer. “Don’t worry, you’re not colorblind. You’re...the opposite, actually.” His hand dropped to Keith’s waist, where his hold was a little more secure. “Get into the Academy’s admin server, Pidge, if you don’t mind. Keith, would you say purple and violet are the same color?”

“No,” Keith answered, holding onto Shiro’s arm as if it were a life raft. “I only used the purple color on the exam as violet because people seem to use them interchangeably.”

“I’m going to tell you two things you’re not going to like, shortly.” Shiro moved the holoscreen toward himself and accessed the archived files of rejected candidates. “The first is that you’re right. Purple and violet aren’t the same color. Purple isn’t real, only violet is, but we don’t have violet light receptors in our eyes, so we can’t see violet without the help of external instruments. We only see it as purple, which is a harmonic color, because both the red and blue cones in our eyes are responsive to violet light.”

He quickly found Keith’s name in a short list of Does that had applied the same year. “The second is also that you’re right. According to colorimeters, the sky is violet. The reason we see it as blue is kind of complicated, but the short of it is that the nitrogen and oxygen in the atmosphere scatter shorter wavelengths more than longer ones. The shortest wavelength we can see, though, is blue, so we like to call the sky blue and to say that we live on the blue planet. People like Allura, however,” he continued, as Keith’s fresh-faced cadet photo filled the screen, “say that we’re our solar system’s _violet_ planet.”

“Are you saying that Keith is Altean?” Pidge asked in disbelief.

“No. Let’s just see if that’s even what the flag on his file is for.” Pidge was bent sideways over Shiro’s lap to get a better look at the screen, but Keith didn’t want to see or hear anything else, already didn’t like where this was going. “Sorry. Flags. Plural. The first of which—”

“Is on the physical,” Pidge finished for him, taking the screen back and, thankfully, out of Keith’s line of sight.

Keith hid his face in Shiro’s shoulder, trying to will away a quickly worsening headache. “I told you I passed that.”

“You did,” confirmed Pidge from Shiro’s other side. “The flag is on your blood test results. Rh-null. Figured you’d mention something like that, living with me for this long.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Keith mumbled into the fabric of Shiro’s tight shirt.

“It’s...nothing bad,” Shiro reassured from the crown of his throbbing head. “It just means you don’t have any blood antigens. That you’re special. Same as the eye examination. But this flag combined with the one on the eye exam would warrant a genetic test to look into your cytosine methylation patterns and make sure you’re otherwise healthy.” He requisitioned the screen a second time. “Which was...” Keith briefly opened one eye to see Shiro swiping through his medical records. “They asked you for a third vial of blood after you finished the rest of your tests, didn’t they?”

“Yeah,” Keith sighed. “Said it was ‘just in case the first was contaminated.’”

“That was a lie. It was for broad-spectrum genetic typing,” Shiro said, running metal fingers through Keith’s mussed hair. “Look at the screen, honey.” Keith reluctantly pushed himself away from Shiro’s side and squinted at his one successful identification photo, blown up over the many unusable takes that had rendered his eyes a deep golden yellow. His rejection status was there in bold lettering below his name and birth date.

_Admission status: DENIED_

_Admin Notes: Code E. Reapplication not permitted._

A small picture of a mulberry-furred Galra accompanied the typeface.

“You’re an alien, baby,” Shiro murmured.

*

_“....one of ours,” Kolivan was saying. “We’ve suspected this for some time.”_

_“And you said nothing?” Shiro accused. They were shut in Keith’s dim room, Kolivan peering in at them on a video call. Shiro was holding his black communicator aloft so Kolivan had a good view of them—of_ Keith _. “More importantly, how could you know? You’ve never met Keith, never seen a picture of him, never—”_

_“Our kind is sensitive to chemical signalling,” Kolivan interjected. “Specifically, the olfactory sort. We were reluctant to let you leave the ship after sensing you had been around an unsuppressed female, but without having yet seen the security footage we pulled from the warehouse heist, I opted not to tell you on the basis that you would find our suspicions...unfounded.”_

_“I would have,” Shiro retorted. “Keith is clearly a boy.”_

_“For most intents and purposes,” qualified Kolivan. “Understand that the loca for sex alleles differs from species to species. For hybrids, the sex of the Galra parent will always determine the sex of the offspring. Your kit’s mother was Galra. Therefore, by Galran behavioral standards, he is female.”_

_Keith couldn’t quite give a shit about the semantics—male, female, neither or both, whatever his genetics said, he was clearly a dude. And everyone was in agreement on that, because that unfortunately wasn’t the issue, here; the issue was not what his genetics said about his gender, but rather what they said about_ him _._

_“Shiro,” Kolivan droned, gravely. “The reason you have never seen a female Galra is because our society is segregated by sex. All of the guards and prisoners in your prison were male not for the sake of privacy but for the sake of caution._

_Galra females use pheromone marking to procure, or should I say capture, mates. In modern times our women take continuous hormone suppressants to dampen the urge to take strangers as mates, but there are still individuals like Keith walking around unmitigated that necessitate total segregation. Any male, regardless of bond status or attachment, can be marked and mated by simple force of will. The first time this occurs marks the start of female sexual maturation, which progresses as long as the mated male is present to reciprocate pheromone exchange—”_

_“What do you mean, by force of will?” Shiro questioned, as Keith shrank into himself. “You can’t just coerce people into mating bonds without some semblance of consent.”_

_“You are not listening.” Bristling, Kolivan almost imperceptibly raised his voice. “You can. Marking you with a single chemical will bond you to one of our women for life, and he’s already done it, it’s why we didn’t bother to stop you when you left the ship. I don’t know how you were chosen, as how compatible mates are chosen is unclear, and you are not Galra, so you may possess some degree of immunity as to retaining your autonomy. But what we do know from your actions is that he has altered you neurologically to the point that you can be bent to his will with only his voice or scent, it is permanent, and we do not know if he’s done it to anyone else._

_“What you have called love for the past three years is not love. You would do well to remember that.” Kolivan’s marigold eyes darted away from the camera. “I need to leave. I’ll forward you some documents of pertinent information, then send a runner to Daibazaal for a cartridge of hormone suppressants. You can do a pickup on your next visit to the ship.” He nodded once, and not to Keith. “Until then, Shiro.”_

_His furred face fizzled into nothingness. Shiro took one look at Keith and faced Pidge’s round eyeglasses, spying on the two of them through the cracked door. “Sorry,” he said, without a touch of remorse. “He’s coming with me tonight.”_

 

They sat in silence in the parking lot of Shiro’s building while Keith scrolled through the partially translated files Kolivan had sent, reading what he could of himself and what it meant that he had supposedly _captured_ Shiro on a night he couldn’t remember very well. He learned a few things; that the window to reverse the process was short and long gone. That the role of the female was to nest and govern procreation, and that life or death, their bonded males adopted a biological imperative to protect and care for their new mate. That once bonded, Galra were known for explosive violence when it came to shielding their partner. That, unchecked, Galra women sometimes used the soul bond to change their multiple lovers’ personalities to fit their liking—and that their creations were more often than not virtual duplicates of themselves.

Shiro waited patiently— _obediently—_ as Keith opened up a translation app to determine any English equivalents for the terminology Galra applied to acquired mates.

His answer appeared quickly enough. Votary; chevalier. Champion. _Paladin._

Shiro was at his heels as Keith led the way upstairs into the apartment, standing outside like a guard dog after he locked himself in the ceramic-tiled bathroom. Keith closed the window shutter and crawled into the corner between the toilet and the trash bin before rolling himself into a self-soothing ball. The shadows of Shiro’s feet idled there in a sharp ray of artificial light, then strode off into the kitchen. The sound of pots clanging were the only punctuation to Keith’s racing thoughts and imminent implosion.

 _Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me. Don’t speak to me if we aren’t on a job_. Keith should have known, should have suspected _something_ from the flawless way Shiro followed his directions, how he sensed exactly what Keith wanted him to do before he himself had figured out what that was, oh _Shiro_ —strong and beautiful and kind _Shiro_. Keith had stolen him, from himself, from someone else, and yet.

Something acrid flooded his mouth and ran down his chin as Keith thought about _his_ Shiro happily married to that woman, raising a family the way he must have wanted, how he had corrupted such a faithful man as Shiro into infidelity...thought about the deadening mental rape he likely inflicted upon him on a daily basis and that he didn’t even know what exactly it was that he had robbed Shiro _of_. A future? Autonomy? Happiness in the broadest sense of the word? All he did—all _Keith_ ever did was upset his Shiro— _hurt_ his Shiro— _betray_ his Shiro—

Viscous warmth rushed into his sinuses. Keith was crying. He locked his jaw and pushed his knees into his eyelids to smother his damning sobs, but it was no use—his voice slipped out between coughs, and Shiro was at the door, breaking the lock and the darkness alike. Keith tried to scoot away, but he had cornered himself, and then Shiro had him,

pulling him into his lap,

holding him tight,

because loath as he was to admit it, all Keith ever wanted, really, was to be held, and because all Shiro ever wanted for Keith was to for him to talk and communicate, the way he never seemed to do for himself.

Still. Keith fought him for every inch, trying fruitlessly to wriggle out of his vice grip. “Let me _go-!_ ”

“It’s okay,” Shiro attempted, settling Keith’s head on his chest. Every citrus-scented kiss he planted was a knife in Keith’s heart. “It’s _okay_.”

“You knew,” Keith cried, waterlogged and wretched. “You knew!”

“I knew you were special,” Shiro granted, carding mechanical fingers through Keith’s hair and repositioning his cramped legs against the toilet. “Genetic mods, animal gene therapy, maybe—I knew you were different, I did, but I promise I didn’t know about this.” Shiro tried again to comfort him, but Keith wouldn’t come, angling away to cover his eyes and squeezing them shut.

His lips shook in tandem with his seizing diaphragm. “I’m a monster.”

“You are _not_ ,” Shiro said, sinking Keith into his shoulder as if comforting a child. “And even if you were you’d be _my_ monster. I wouldn’t fall out of love with you over something as trivial as your biology.”

“Trivial?” Keith cried. “You don’t _love me_. I thought someone finally _could_ love me, but you’re only here because I’m forcing you to be! I’m not even your type, Shiro, you can’t say you didn’t notice! Is that why you don’t want me?” Shiro opened his mouth to speak, but Keith hadn’t finished. Fat tears soaked the seam of Shiro’s dark sweater. “That’s why, isn’t it? Because you know what you could have had if I hadn’t ruined your life?”

Shiro stiffly, resolutely shook his head. “Don’t say things like that, Keith.” Keith took in a stammering breath and tried to calm himself.

“Sorry, I don’t—” His hands weren’t enough, so he pulled up the collar of his shirt to dry his face. “I don’t know if you just don’t know me well enough or what, but I’m really starting to think I’m not the person you said you wanted, when you said you wanted me.”

“I know you well enough,” Shiro countered plaintively. “I love you _well enough_.”

“You _don’t!_ ” Keith lashed out at him in tired frustration. “Because—”

“Because what?” challenged Shiro. “Because that’s what Kolivan said, and you trust him over me? What the hell does he know? He’s not human, he’s never been bonded. Who is he to invalidate my or...or anyone else’s feelings?

“Tell me. Do you think this is random? Do you honestly think you chose me for no particular reason?” He rotated Keith’s face by the chin until they were looking at each other directly. “You did less than you think, sweetheart. Alien ritual or no alien ritual, I’d have ended up with you somehow, some way. It’s what the universe wants.”

Keith’s heavy eyelids slipped closed again as Shiro tucked a hank of disheveled hair behind his ear. “You can’t know that.”

“You haven’t been paying attention,” returned Shiro, smile shining brilliant in his voice. “I understand now, why you lashed out after...learning about my history, and we’re just going to have to forgive each other and meet in the middle on that, but Keith—no one’s makes me feel the way you do, and that’s what I _like_ about you. I’ve been soft, but no one ever made me _this_ soft. No one’s ever fit under my chin like you’re doing right now. No one’s ever warmed me up with a kiss like you did. You’re the perfect size, the perfect shape, that’s...not an accident, baby. And I’m not saying you don’t have flaws, you do, I’m not blind to that fact. But these are my own feelings. I’m sure of it.”

“ _But_ ,” Keith moaned, opening his eyes. “How can you _know_?”

“Because you chose me.” Shiro nosed him. His grey eyes were ashen black in the dim lighting.  “You scented me, yes, but you only came to me  because I wanted you to. I saw your bright eyes, and I...well. I just knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away from you.” He tossed his shoulders. “Then you wound up binding me to you, so you made that thought a reality, but. It doesn’t change the fact that I knew you’d be the love of my life as soon as I laid eyes on you all the way across the pavement.” Shiro might have been the sun, what with the golden warmth of his honesty, and Keith was seeing _it_ again; what he must have seen in him from the very beginning, the radiant thing that caused a hidden part of him to deem Shiro the one for him.

He closed a hand around the titanium zipper of Shiro’s sweater, used it to ground himself. “Why aren’t you even a little upset about this? You act as if it isn’t a big deal.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Shiro asserted, unyielding. “And if I humor you and say that it is, you’re only going to freak out. I’m here to take care of you, not enable you. You’ve never forced my hand.” Keith stayed quiet, turning the zipper in his hand left and right. “What? You don’t trust me?”

“I trust you,” Keith exhaled faintly. “I’m just… it’s just a lot, Shiro.”

Shiro took the time to reseat Keith in his lap now that he wasn’t trying to escape his arms. “Do you...still not remember anything?” He pulled away a fraction. “About the day you met me, that is.”

“A little, I think.” Shiro tilted his head with newfound curiosity. Or maybe it was hope.

“What do you remember?”

Keith shifted, swallowed. “I think you were there, the night I crashed my bike. Were you...in the race?”

“Yes,” Shiro confirmed. “A friend of mine was supposed to have that spot, but he broke his arm earlier in the day. He asked me to fill in, to try to win the money.” Keith felt his muscles strain. “I saw you get in that wreck. Freaked me out. I was about to call an ambulance, but you were already back up and walking it off.”

“I don’t remember.” Keith wished he did. “Before that, though. When I went to you, I think I...grabbed your tags, from the Academy. Was that me? I mean, did I actually do that, or-?”

“You did,” said Shiro. “I told you, I wanted you to come.”

Keith chewed his lip. “If that’s all that happened, then why didn’t you just come out and tell me?”

“Well, the abridged version is nothing special. I didn’t want to freak you out.” Shiro’s mouth contorted into something regretful and ugly. “I still might, if I say much more.”

“Then don’t,” Keith breathed. “And I just won’t ask.” He was more than done with feeling freaked out with himself; for today, for tomorrow, for the rest of his life.

“...When I was standing there, watching you,” Shiro whispered, looping Keith’s elbows around his neck so he could clasp his arms around him properly.  “I thought there was no way you could want me. I thought you, you would be somebody else’s, same as I was. Nothing I could do about it. By some miracle you weren’t, but then you made me hunt you down. I looked for you for so long, Keith.”

Keith squeezed him back, wishing he hadn’t closed the window shutter so he might properly see the angled contour of Shiro’s face. “I’m sorry.”

“And then you _rejected_ me,” Shiro snorted, his nose tickling Keith’s cheek. “Ignored me like you hadn’t ruined me for anyone else. Made me stay away from you. Made it so goddamn clear how independent you are, and how you don’t need me, no matter how much I might, _selfishly_ want you to—God, Keith, I...I try not to ask for much, but if you could even just _pretend_ to need me, I wouldn’t need anything—”

“I do need you, Shiro.” Keith hid his face again, in Shiro’s neck this time to better savor the sharp way he inhaled. “But when I want space you give me too much. I thought you didn’t care if you hurt me. I thought you might leave.”

Shiro wiped at Keith’s dried tears for a moment before moving his legs out of the way and leaning over the rim of the tub to plug the drain. Keith curiously watched him open the digitized tap.

“I won’t leave you,” he reminded, unfastening the side closures on Keith’s shirt and lifting the collar over his head. “And I’ll always love you. No matter what you do, no matter what you say. That’s both my own volition and yours. Believe me and remember that.”

“You always sound so sure,” Keith said, bringing his fingertips up into the buzzed hair at the nape of Shiro’s neck as his fly was opened and his stretchy pants rolled down his legs. “And you’re always right.”

Shiro ruefully sighed, unhooking the clasp at his collar to disrobe himself as well. “Well. I do have certain insights.” Keith could sure believe that—Shiro must possess some sort of insight, to know something so simple as running a hot bath would be enough to emotionally repair Keith into a renewed and improved version of his former self. He got to choose the bath scent and the powdered soap, and Shiro took care of the rest, scrubbing the stiff salt from his cheeks and the stress from the rest of his rigid body. It ended, predictably, with Keith boneless against Shiro’s broad chest, knuckles running tender up and down the slope of his spine. The tempo slowed and he didn’t need to look up to know that Shiro was drifting off as well.

“You have flaws, too, you know,” mumbled Keith, just as Shiro’s hands came to a rest at the crest of his hip. Shiro cracked one eye at him, unsure of the point he was trying to make.

“Hm?”

“Like I do,” Keith clarified. The still surface of the water rippled as he moved his neck. “You have flaws. You have tons of red flags. You work too much. You worry too much about me and not enough about yourself. You have an unhealthy relationship with alcohol, and...whatever’s going on with you, you’re keeping it from me. You keep a lot of parts of yourself from me, but you want to see all of mine just because you think that’s what’s healthy. You have flaws, yeah? You’re not above it all.”

Shiro shrugged, careful not to disturb Keith’s head. “I’m not perfect.”

“No,” Keith said, tightening his arms around Shiro’s middle and dragging the tips of his fingers across his skin. “You _are_ perfect, because your flaws aren’t actual flaws. They’re just part of what makes you, you, and I...” Shiro responded with one of his inimitably reassuring squeezes, and Keith couldn’t help but keep talking, knowing it was what would make Shiro most happy. “I do. Like it, when you tell me you love me.”

Shiro actually opened both eyes at that. “Do you?”

“...Yeah.” He nodded once. “But I don’t… I don’t know what love is, Shiro. At least, I don’t think I do. Maybe it’s because I’m not as human as you. And I don’t want to lie to you. But I can tell you that what I do know is hate.” Keith laid still, blinking up at the ceramic wall of the tub. “And I hate _this_. I hate disappointing you, so I hate myself. And for making me feel like this, I think I might—” He held Shiro closer, trying to ignore the sense that these words had exited his mouth before. “I might resent you too, Shiro? Hate you. A little bit.” Keith started as Shiro seized his shoulders and pulled him upright.

“Fuck,” Shiro swore, gripping Keith forceful enough to hurt. “ _Fuck_ , there it is.” Keith searched his face, hunting for a sign as to why Shiro’s voice would be shaking the way it was. “Say that again. Say it again for me.”

“I...hate you,” Keith repeated, more of a question than a confession this time. “But only a little bit.” Shiro kissed him, and it was like slamming into the sea.

It was difficult to remove himself from the sudden deluge of affection, but Keith eventually managed it, his face to the ceiling as Shiro’s descended down his neck. “I hate how, I’ve been living with Pidge for years and I can’t remember her birthday, but I know yours after you telling it to me _once_. I hate that I never leave my clothes on the ground anymore, because I know if you see it you’ll clean up after me, and I feel guilty if I take advantage of you like that. I hate that I wish I was better for you, because you don’t want me to be better at all, and—” Shiro mouthed at his shoulder and Keith swallowed air. “I, hate that I don’t hate you at all, Shiro, I just—fucking _want_ you. And if you stay, I might even be able to find a way to forgive myself for betraying you the way that I did. I just feel like you deserve someone better than me. I’m just _sorry_.”

Shiro pulled Keith’s forehead to his and held it there, ignoring the now-cold rivulets of water that ran from his wet fringe down his face like tears. “What exactly do you think love is, Keith?” He brought Keith’s hands to the corners of his jaw when he didn’t receive an answer, pushing them into his skin and anchoring the two of them against the wall of the bath. “I’m going to teach you something, all right? Love isn’t some stupid…pie in the sky that some God is divvying up and handing out, and you just intuitively know when you’ve gotten a slice. It doesn’t work like that. Life doesn’t work like that, ever. Love is not a...an extant thing people _obtain_ , it’s relative, it’s undefinable, it’s feeling _sorry,_ it’s—” Shiro sighed and started anew.

“Keith. If you want to talk about love, you have to say that it’s God, it’s…the whole universe, it’s, everyone and everything, it’s you, it’s...it’s especially you, but I could pick anything or anyone to amount to a different expression of love. Life is experiential, time is an ocean, and the second shoe is never _ever_ going to drop, so there’s no point in waiting for someone to tell you what you should think. No one can tell you what love is or isn’t, because there’s infinite ways to observe it and no two people are going to feel it the same. You just have to decide what it is on your own and go from there, sweetheart. There’s no other way.”

“Shiro,” said Keith, in revelation. “I think I might love you.”

“I think you just might,” Shiro breathed, sinking like a stone down for another kiss.

Keith let himself be bowled over again as Shiro’s earnest expression from their first date in that cafe came rushing back to memory. _The way I want to kiss you._ Was this what he meant? Shiro had never seen it fit to kiss him like _this_ —elemental, virile, and selfishly possessive—Keith _liked_ it. Keith had _missed_ this, if that were at all possible. He raised a knee over Shiro and was pulled atop him, calves on either side of Shiro’s hips and belly planate with his.

“Feel the fireworks?” murmured Shiro, locking him there with a solid forearm around his waist. “Feel that you’re meant for me?” Keith did, but more than that, he was overwhelmed with the untenable urge to _do something_ , to craft some sort of altar from This—from Love. He was all but bursting with an emotion that had nowhere to go, but where to put it? Shiro’s chest, above his heart? His throat, seat of his voice? In a pagan circle, a ring around his body entire? Nothing was good enough; it was all too earthly. If Keith had previously thought that for all her sparkling glamour, Allura was a goddess, then for all his glimmering wisdom, Shiro had to be a god.

Keith slipped down Shiro’s front before he could form a reply and felt an unmistakable and _very ungodly_ nudge against the side of his ass as a wave of water splashed dangerously close to the rim. “ _Hey_.”

“Sorry,” Shiro said, kneading the cheek with familiarity. “I’m not the best at, um.” He flushed a little as Keith stroked wet hands up and down over his chest. “Do you...want to…?”

Keith didn’t look up right away, though he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching Shiro. “I’m...not human. If anyone else found out we were intimate, then...”

“Didn’t seem to be an obstacle for the previous generation,” Shiro offered as he trailed off, with the audacity to then look defensive at Keith’s sour-grapes expression.

“Shiro.” Keith sounded a mile more disappointed than he’d meant. “It’s not _nothing_. It’s the law.”

Shiro sat up, driving their faces back together and pulling the plug from the drain. “I asked Pidge to expunge that data from every record she could find. You _are_ human, at least as far as the bureaucracy is concerned.” He pushed the sopping hair from Keith’s face with his silver hand and put his lips to his temple. “And even if you weren’t. I’m a wanted man. Having carnal relations with an extraterrestrial would be the least of my charges, don’t you think?”

Keith let that warmed hand thumb his cheek, lips. “Stop making it so easy to agree with you.”

“Then say you want me and get it over with.” A beat passed. Keith closed his ankles behind Shiro’s waist and crooked both arms over his shoulders. A definite yes.

Shiro had them out of the draining tub in an instant, yanking a fluffy white towel from the rack with the hand that wasn’t supporting Keith and leaving a short trail of wet footprints in the carpeting. Keith was in his sheets a few moments later, welcoming the wanton press of Shiro’s cock against his belly, the towel in his hair, and the distracting ache in his abdomen as blood began flowing south in anticipation. Shiro abandoned the towel by Keith’s head, rolling them onto their sides and wrapping a hand around Keith’s growing erection. It was fast, but fast was just how Keith liked it.

He put his lips together to avoid an embarrassingly loud gasp. “I know—what happened last time, but—I still want to suck you.”

“Start smaller for me?” Shiro guided Keith’s hand to himself, releasing his wrist in favor of his preferred handhold on the small of Keith’s waist.

“Okay.” Keith stroked rough but even, matching the pace of Shiro’s hand on him. “Mm?”

“Like this,” Shiro said, pausing to take Keith’s hand in his and slow his tempo, cinching Keith’s fingers on every downstroke and moaning in quiet encouragement. “Like that, Keith— _just_ like that.” Keith’s cock pulsed at the sound of his name in Shiro’s mouth, opening his own to receive Shiro’s fingers. Shiro maneuvered Keith’s thigh over himself and removed them, reaching behind him to part the cleft of his ass and touch his weeping entrance. “Fuck, _fuck_ , I _just_ got you in my bed and you’re already _so_ —”

“Tell me you want me,” Keith hushed, leaning in for Shiro’s kiss. “Tell me you think about fucking me all the time.”

“I think about fucking you all the time.” Shiro’s fingers were already pumping in and out of Keith, his entrance elastic and willing. “Think about doing you every kind of way. In every room in my apartment. In every room in _your_ apartment. In the damn travel pod.” He bucked up into Keith’s hand, hand losing its rhythm. “Think about how you take control every time you try to seduce me and what I wanna do with you instead.”

“So you’re saying you want to hold me down?” Heat pooled in Keith’s face and between his legs as Shiro yanked his hips closer. _Yes_. “You want to hold me down and see how my _little_ body feels around your _big_ cock?”

“I can’t believe this.” Shiro’s fingers fucked him faster. “How can you just call me out like that? I’m _naked_ , Keith. I’m _vulnerable_.”

Keith shrugged as nonchalantly as he could with Shiro pleasuring him. “I know you think I'm small and it turns you on. And I know you like the fact that you’ll be the first one there, when you finally make it inside me. I know. I've been paying attention.” He kissed Shiro’s cheek, nipped at his ear. “That’s what adults do, right? _Pay attention_ to their boyfriend?”

“What really fucking turns me on is when you throw my words back at me,” Shiro rumbled, drawing his fingers out of Keith to grab at the nightstand drawer handle. Keith caught his wrist when it reappeared with a condom in hand and he hesitated. “Keith—I can go longer with one on.”

“You’ll have to go a long time without one,” Keith postured. “I want you dripping out of me.” Shiro shook his head again, with genuine disbelief this time, and Keith rolled him onto his back, retrieving the lube from the open drawer and pouring it liberally over the tip of Shiro’s cock. The gel slipped naturally into the spaces between Keith’s fingers as they moved up and down and Shiro moaned bodily, knees spreading, back arching into the sensation. Keith wiped the excess between the cheeks of his ass and mounted him carefully, wiggling his hips playfully when Shiro took hold.

“There you go again,” Shiro admonished, caressing him with his thumbs. “Taking the lead. Give me the wheel.”

“You’ll have to fight me for it.” Keith swiped his hair out of his face. “I already know you’ll take me too slow.”

“Be _careful_.” Shiro’s expression was serious. “We’re going fast, baby. We should do it on your side or something, take it slow. I don’t want to hurt—”

“It’s not going to hurt,” Keith whispered, holding Shiro in place and lowering himself down. “It’ll just—” Just. He stopped for air as the head of Shiro’s cock broke the seal and plunged inside, and Keith had been right he was big so big and it was so so so tight until he _just_ — _gave_ , the way he had somehow known he would, and Shiro slipped into his sex _fast_ , all at once, forced up and _in_ by gravity as Keith dropped into his lap.

Shiro, of course, was mortified. “ _Keith_ —”

“Didn’t hurt,” mumbled Keith, breathless. “Felt...felt good.” Shiro let escape a relieved lungful of air, shifting his hips as he did. The motion caused him to move, inside Keith, against the tumid mound too far inside for Keith to reach himself, the one he had never before managed to stimulate. It was _painfully_ good. Keith moaned, loud. “God, _Shiro_ , that’s nice—you fit just perfect—”

“Fuck me, if it’s perfect,” Shiro hissed, gripping Keith’s waist to work himself farther inside. “You wanted to be on top, so go on, honey. Let me see you work yourself on my cock.” Wow. Words like that could come out of Shiro’s mouth? Hell. Keith was in over his head with this, but the least he could do was oblige.

He raised himself in experiment and was gifted with the incredible sensation of Shiro’s cock head dragging out over the ridges inside his body. Shiro seemed affected too, from the toe-curling way he chased Keith with his hips. Keith fell back onto his thighs and couldn’t stand it, he _had_ to kiss him, delivering to Shiro something hot and honest and receiving the same in return. It was somehow reminiscent of Keith’s childhood, of taking communion in the little chapel of his orphanage and being told he was different, _changed_ , for having done it.

“I love you,” Shiro told him, as though it were a secret—and just like that, Keith had a revelation: of what sex was really _for_ ; of why they called it _making love_ ; of why Shiro was so reluctant to share it with him before and why he had decided to share it with him now. Keith’s hips took on a mind of their own—swinging front to back, swiveling, doing whatever felt good—and soon he was bouncing up and down in Shiro’s lap, Shiro’s arms holding him as best they can without sacrificing his mobility. Shiro’s thighs were taut beneath him, his mouth singing nothing but praise. “Baby _,_ baby _boy—_ you feel _so fucking_ —”

“You always make me feel so good,” Keith said, eyes half closed, head bobbing up and down. “I kept it safe for you, you know? Kept it tight.” Shiro’s soft sigh was all he needed to hear, gyrating a little as he sank back onto Shiro’s warm dick—rock solid and stretching him open, but with just the right amount of comfortable give. Shiro’s grip intensified and Keith felt himself guided, then yanked down, then up, down, until he was sweating and clenching deliciously at their speed. He moaned and Shiro slowed them a bit, but—why?

“Keith,” Shiro gasped, against his lips. “Did you come?”

“Not yet,” Keith answered in confusion. “Why?” He followed Shiro’s pointed gaze down to their thighs—or rather, Shiro’s thighs, drenched in a copious river of Keith’s slick. More leaked unhurriedly from his sex, flowing down Shiro’s cock and between his legs. The same temperature as his body, Keith hadn’t noticed it at all. He opened his mouth to say...something, apologize maybe, but—

“That’s...not cum,” Shiro said, in wonder. “Is that for me?” Keith raised his shoulders, knew he was blushing. “ _God_ , that’s for me, isn’t it?” He sped their pace again, Keith’s ass slapping against his sopping skin. “It’s for me. You’re _wet for me_.”

“I’m wet for you,” Keith sighed, thanking his lucky stars that Shiro was turned _on_ and not _off_. “Only for you.”

“You—are— _mine_.” Shiro turned into his cheek, arching higher with every freshly slicked bounce. “Everything about you is— _mine_ , your little hips, your little mouth, your little _ass_ , I—Keith, I’m gonna—”

“You better not,” Keith warned, but too late—there was a pleasant spurt inside him, then a second, maybe a third, and Shiro sagged forward, sapped in a matter of moments. Keith was left questing for stimulation, grinding helplessly over Shiro’s softening cock. “Shiro-!”

“Sorry,” Shiro sighed, pulling him in to hold him close, rub blissful post-orgasm circles into his back and hips, but Keith was too wound up to enjoy it.

He squirmed and Shiro pulled out, rolling them backward and onto their sides. Keith smacked a small scar on his shoulder. “ _Shiro_.”

“Want me to go down?” Shiro immediately asked, twinkling eagerly through the fading pleasure. “It’ll feel good. Get me hard again.” Keith’s mouth worked open and shut, but no words came out. No trouble; Shiro correctly took it as permission to continue, reaching over Keith to retrieve something from the nightstand on his side of the bed. Keith couldn’t see what he grabbed, but he heard the crinkle of the plastic, smelled the sugar. _Strawberry candy_. He pressed his thighs together. The thought alone was making his ass trickle.

“Turn on your belly, baby.” Keith did as he was told. “Spread your legs.” Shiro crawled behind him, clapping a possessive hand on his ass. Keith took a deep breath, unsure what to expect, and then Shiro’s nose was weighing into his tailbone, tongue traveling in a wide swipe up the slippery valley of his entrance. Keith writhed in appreciation and Shiro started to... _suck_.

Keith didn’t know how long he was blinded by pleasure, how long Shiro had been kissing him, how many times he’d fucked into him with his tongue. He was purring, _literally_ , loudly into his pillow, tearing at the sheets, Shiro, _Shiro_ , _yes, yes_ , _ah_ —!

Shiro’s sweet mouth vanished and Keith was flipped over without any effort at all, legs held wide open as Shiro seamlessly guided his length into him a second time. Again, Keith purred for him.

“I love it when you do that,” Shiro vibrated, seating himself inside. “You do it all the time in your sleep. Make little squeaks and clicks, too. It’s so cute.”

Keith parted his lips for a deep kiss. “I told you I’m not cute.” Another full purr stirred in his being with a single snap of Shiro’s powerful hips and Shiro’s mouth migrated to his shoulder, laving wet kisses from his collarbone to his ear.

“And I’m telling you you _are_ cute. Whether you like it or not.” Damn. Keith understood the implication. Somehow, Shiro had finally gotten what he wanted: the wheel. And Keith, spread wide and fucked-out beneath him, was helpless to do anything but let Shiro have his way with him. To let Shiro _wreck_ him.

Slick pooled under him at the thought as Shiro lifted his hips off of the soaked sheets. Keith held on to his forearms, one flesh and one metal, as Shiro opened him up one powerful thrust at a time. “Take it, _take_ it, Shiro, you can _have it_ —”

“It’s like you’re kissing me down there,” Shiro murmured into his ear. “Sucking me in like that.”

“I want you,” Keith moaned, hyper-aware of how dwarfed he was under Shiro’s sculpted body. “I want you, more, _please_ —” Shiro’s metal hand traveled to his hips, and the meter sped, suddenly; waxing their lovemaking hard, waning it rough. Shiro’s other hand explored Keith’s bared neck, the pressure of his cock unforgiving against the sensitive mound inside him, and just as Keith came under his touch he recalled thinking how...liberating, it was, to turn himself over fully to Shiro, to trust Shiro to guide him as stars died in ecstasy behind his eyes. To give Shiro delirious, rapturous control.

His grooved inner walls squeezed closed and, with a pleasured groan, Shiro followed him into the brief, dark void.

Keith recovered first, lovingly rolling the heels of his palms up and down Shiro’s back until he raised his head from the crook of Keith’s neck. Shiro tried to pull out, but no luck: he was locked in tight, held inside by the base with a vice grip. Keith had the humility to be embarrassed, but Shiro wound their arms around each other with a bashful shrug, whispering reassuring words into his kisses and dragging Keith into a bout of playful cuddling until at last he was relaxed enough for Shiro to disconnect their bodies.

Keith would have liked to cuddle a bit more, in fact, but Shiro let him go after a while, gently sliding out of him and vanishing down the hallway to the kitchen. He reappeared shortly thereafter (never one to keep Keith waiting), hoisting a knee up onto the mattress and matter-of-factly displaying a bowl of the alfredo Keith had heard him making earlier while working himself up in the bathroom. Keith lifted his hands to take the food, but Shiro waved him away with a glint of his ring, twirling a fork in the pasta and bringing it up to Keith’s mouth.

“Well- _fucked_ ,” Shiro said, in explanation. “Well- _fed_.” He looked meaningfully at the pillows. “Well _-rested._ ”

Keith couldn’t help but smile at this particular brand of insistent aftercare. “Okay,” he said, opening his mouth for Shiro’s fork. “But you stay.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Shiro promised. He stabbed the fork back into the ceramic bowl. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

Keith held those words close to his heart when he fell asleep not long after that, ear pressed to Shiro’s chest, counting the beats like sheep.

*

 _It’s okay,_ Shiro soothed, snowy flower petals falling from his mouth and into the palm of Keith’s hand. _It’s okay, just stay with me. Don’t cry._ Keith looked at the petals in his hand and saw them turn scarlet red. _I love you._

*

Keith came to in a cold but satisfyingly deep puddle of his own slick. Shiro was gone from his side, but Keith was well-enough attuned to his scent to sense that he was still in the apartment.

He slid off the mattress and walked naked down the hall, expecting to see Shiro in the kitchen cleaning the pots he’d said could wait until the next day. Keith found him instead in the living room, sitting before the window with his back against the loveseat, half-empty bottle of whiskey in hand as he watched the setting sun. Keith knelt down and curled himself against Shiro’s side, trying to get a glimpse of the wall clock. _6:28._ He’d only been asleep for an hour.

“Shiro,” Keith began. Shiro had never been this type of silent. “You—”

“When I came home that night, do you know what she said?” Shiro suddenly asked, glancing down at him. Keith slowly, uncertainly shook his head. “I came home and I said...I’m leaving you. I’m leaving you, for someone I just met tonight, and she said to me, _don’t go_. Can you _imagine?_ ” He laughed once, a harsh cry that made Keith flinch, and then words were tumbling out of him, one after another like marbles, clicking together heavy and fractured as if made of broken glass.

“Your fiancé, the person you’ve been with for almost 4 years comes home one day _so easily_ wanting to leave and the first things you say is, _don’t go_. I mean, the things people will _tolerate_ , the things they’ll _put up with_ just to have someone to—I mean just look at…” Shiro gestured, vaguely, to himself. “And, you know what? I think it’s because when it comes to the death of a person, we at least have these...socially accepted rituals and timelines, for grief and for mourning someone’s passing, but with the death of a relationship which may as well have had a life of its own, there’s just no script. Nothing to tell you how to react or what to do to swallow the pill. All you can do is beg and cry and pray the other person changes their mind, whether that’s what God has planned for you or not. It’s just sad, Keith. Just sad.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith said, one of countless apologies he’d made that day. “I don’t...understand why you’re upset.” Shiro sighed.

“I’m upset because I didn’t care, Keith.” He smoothed his hair back, clearing his vision. “When I walked out on 4 years and a potential lifetime worth of emotional investment, I didn’t _care_. I _still_ don’t care. I apologized, half-assed, but I didn’t have even an ounce of regret because I couldn’t wait to go to _you_. And I’m beginning to realize that the universe wants what it wants, Keith. It’s a couple years late, but I can’t fight fate.” Shiro’s mechanical hand clenched, unclenched. “It’s easier on the heart to just accept the things you cannot control and live the rest of your life with the inevitable put out of mind, else I’ll get hung up thinking about how I don’t know who I was meant to be anymore. Maybe I was only ever meant to be the man who loves you. All I know is that I couldn’t leave you if I wanted to.”

Keith, still sticky with his own fluids, climbed into the lap of Shiro’s sweatpants and gazed up at him, picking apart the silver cracks in his chiseled face, searching for a glimpse of the soul beneath the stone. Shiro met his eyes and another chink appeared in his armor, eyes brimming with water.

“And then you look at me like that and it’s like I never lost anything at all.” Keith pulled Shiro’s face down into his hair and held him, unsteady, as tears hit his ear like sparse rain.

“Shiro,” he ventured. “What happened, I mean—what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, baby.” Shiro was trying to comfort him, even now. “I’m just—it’s nothing, I swear.” That was a true lie, Keith could tell, but not one he could bring himself to be angry over. He knew, now, that Shiro must be afraid he would _make_ him tell what had upset him, whatever it was he was hiding, but Keith had since decided he would never push Shiro like that again.

Keith, who didn’t know he was lonely until Shiro came into his life...Shiro, who said he would would never let Keith be lonely again.

Maybe it was okay, to use his power over him, if it wasn’t something so vehemently private; if it was something for their own good. If it was meant for Keith to do what Shiro always wanted him to do: _communicate_.

“Shiro,” Keith called again, with authority this time. _“What do you want?_ ”

Shiro’s tears stopped, arms clasping themselves around Keith’s waist. “I want you to move in here,” he confessed, barely audible. “Live with me.”

Keith placed a reassuring hand on the nape of his neck. “I can do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _megurimeguru tokiwo koe, itsumo anatano tokorohe to, kono kokoro, maimodotteyuku._
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> im on twitter now: [https://twitter.com/marinoxxycontin](@marinoxxycontin)
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> was supposed to make art for this but eh, i wanted to post. if i do it will show up here in the chapter notes and on twitter/tumblr.


	6. the book of revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: gore, body horror, death/straight up murder
> 
> I tried to finish the art for this chapter in one sitting but it didn't work out, and I'm impatient to post, so when it's done it'll be up on tumblr/twitter and I'll link to it right here. (edit: [here it is)](http://marinoxx.tumblr.com/post/174788304705/i-lost-all-motivation-to-color-this-but-anyway)
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> Also this is largely unedited because, as I said, I'm impatient, so if it's slightly different in a week or whatever you know the reason why.
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> Nothing else from me. See you on the other side.

Three days passed and Keith was in Shiro’s bed.

He hadn’t been lying there prone the entire time, of course. He’d been up and about for a spell or two, made visits to the bathroom, took the initiative to help Shiro fix lunch or put away groceries. He never made it out on the shopping trips, though. Shiro couldn’t get his mouth off Keith’s skin quite long enough for that; kept him exhausted and much too bowlegged to make it to the corner store.

Nevermind the many missed messages blinking red on the smooth screen of his communicator.

Nevermind the roasting he would get, when he finally returned to the apartment he would formerly call home, and Pidge saw the hickeys Shiro had purposely peppered him with. _So everyone knows you’re mine_ , he’d said, eyes dark and full of want. Keith liked that idea a hell of a lot more than he should, in light of their current standing and the newly illicit nature of their relationship.

His comm buzzed for what felt like the thousandth time and Keith wrestled an arm from Shiro with playful, if sleepy, indignation.

“No,” Shiro remonstrated, lifting his face from Keith’s hair to snatch at his wrist. “I’m not finished having you to myself yet.”

“It’s _Pidge_ ,” Keith laughed. “I need to text her back before she calls the cops on you.” Shiro pulled him in by the cinch of his waist and dragged the sharp line of his teeth over Keith’s jawbone, over one of the glands where Keith knew his scent grew thickest.

“I’ll bite you.”

“Then bite me,” Keith challenged, dropping the comm with a giggle when Shiro made good on his promise. He pulled up his inbox with a shudder, Shiro’s tongue running flat over the bow of his neck. Pidge’s latest texts were at the top of the categorized list, the most recent marked with a bright orange exclamation point to communicate urgency.

_It’s been days, why aren’t you texting back?_

_Keith_

_Keith_

_Are you with Shiro??_

_Keith what the hell._

_Keith_

_KEITH_

_I called everyone and no one’s heard from you?_

_You’re with Shiro aren’t you? He’s the only one not picking up_

_You guys are disgusting_

_Keith_

_KEITH_

_Hey. We need to talk._

_Sorry, I was busy_ , Keith shakily typed, trying unsuccessfully to shoulder Shiro off. _Yeah, I’m at Shiro’s. I’ll come back soon and we can talk._ He dithered over the keyboard for a second or more. _There’s something I need to tell you too._

“You done?” Shiro’s large hand slid comfortably down the musculature of his chest and stomach as Keith yawned and placed the comm back in its place on the nightstand charger.

“Yeah.” He reached back, sneaking a finger or two under the elastic waistband of Shiro’s underwear. A soft kiss crushed itself behind his ear and Shiro flipped him around, wrapping a hand around his more adventurous wrist.

“You are so _beautiful_ ,” he inserted, between rapid-fire kisses. “The sweetest fucking thing. Like candy for the eyes.”

“Keep the flattery to a believable minimum,” Keith said with a smile, just as Shiro recaptured his tongue. “I know what I look like.”

“Do you?” Shiro took on an amused tone. “Or do you only know what Lance and Pidge say to tease you?”

“You don't know half of what they say,” Keith answered with a wan cut of his eyes. “But no. I don’t know. People just don’t... treat me the way they do ‘pretty’ people. You were the first person to say anything like that.”

Shiro smiled secretively. “To your face, you mean.” Keith was left to wonder who Shiro could mean by that. The sly sideward cast of his eyes indicated not conjecture, but experience—and a wealth of it. Shiro tugged him flush, then, effectively derailing the train of thought. “You and Allura are the same,” he marveled, rippling his thumb over Keith’s ribs like piano keys. “Threatening. Alien but prettier than any Terran, and by our own standards. It’s uncomfortable. People don’t like it. The only difference between the two of you is—” Shiro paused under Keith’s last rib, squeezing his middle for emphasis, “—Allura knows she’s beautiful.”

He resumed his previous ministrations, applying lips and teeth to Keith’s bare skin with a consonance that was almost nonchalant, but Keith recognized this insistence; had already grown familiar with the subtle language of Shiro’s body and the change in his scent when his interest spiked.

Keith draped an arm over Shiro’s shoulder, careful to keep a disinterested affect. “So, what’s the plan? Are you gonna buck up and fuck me, or do you want to butter me up a little more first?”

Shiro’s sigh was dark.  “Neither. We’re out of lube.”

“Won’t need it if you work a little harder in the first quarter,” Keith hinted. Shiro gave his ass a rude smack and he rolled over again, more enthused than disappointed. They didn’t need it, really, but old habits died hard.

“I can run to the supercenter if you hold the thought,” suggested Shiro, massaging away the lingering sting. “If you’ll be alright by yourself.” Hm.

“I’m not a little kid,” Keith scoffed, though it was missing any sharpness to its edge. He folded his knees before him, arching into Shiro’s broad chest in a long stretch. “I’ll be fine.” Shiro’s hand moved down his body in a long stripe, as if stroking a cat, and in another kiss or two he was gone, leaving Keith to settle back down to sleep in a warm patch of afternoon sun.

His voice resounded in the entryway as the front door clicked shut. _Be back in a while, kitten._ The smile on Keith’s face was the last thing he remembered before he fell asleep.

 

He stirred not long after, disturbed by a creeping warmth between his thighs.

Keith pushed the top sheet off and spread his legs, expecting to see a very unwelcome torrent of colorless slick (because seriously? Shiro wasn’t even present), and there _was_ a torrent there, but—

He drew his feet back in horror at the thick, gelatinous river draining from his body, spreading runny over the sheet in angry violet tributaries streaked with red. A—nightmare? A dream, yes? Keith shakily reached out, sure that if he touched the mess it would disappear.

His hand sank into the ooze.

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith screamed—clapping his clean hand over his face as soon as the name left his mouth—as soon as he realized Shiro wasn’t there, that he was alone. He was alone. He would have to deal with this, _alone_.

Keith frantically collected his shattered composure and retracted his soiled hand. Thin, mucusy ropes of sludge were reluctant to release his fingers, then his legs as he peeled himself from the bed. A few yanks and the sheet came free—Keith was relieved beyond measure to see that the stain had yet to seep into the mattress cover. The unending stream of slime in his boxers threatened to drip from his thighs to the carpeting and Keith ran to the laundry room, then the bathtub, throwing the linens inside and opening the hot water tap before locking the door. He sat there, naked and heaving on a porcelain throne, desperately dumping liquid detergent into the violaceous broth of the water as something menacing fell from his body and into the toilet.

He fumbled backward and flushed without looking between his legs, lacking the fortitude to watch a congealed mass of the fluid disappear into the sewers. There was nothing to do now but step shin-deep into the bathtub and scrub himself, his underwear, the sheets.

Keith wiped away his inexplicable tears and resolved to do just that.

 

“I’m home,” Shiro called as the front door swung open, ambling into the kitchen with the telltale rustle of groceries. He abandoned an  armful of flimsy plastic bags on the countertop and spied Keith instantly, sending him a shy smile and bashfully gesturing at his supercenter haul that was definitely more than what he’d ventured out for. Keith didn’t need words to understand. _I, uh, got carried away._

He ran over the threshold of the laundry nook into Shiro’s expectant arms, all remembrance of why he’d been hiding there in the first place evaporating with the first touch of Shiro’s candy-flavored kiss. God. Most of the time, this—this soft, gentle warmth—it was all Keith could think about.

“I love you,” Keith spilled, into his mouth. “I love you something fierce.” They were words from his earliest memories; sweet nothings to his mother from his father, heard as whispers round the corner from where Keith lay half-sleeping in his crib. He had never thought he’d understand the sentiment, never thought it something he could ever think to say—but it was, here and now, from Keith and for _him_ , the man holding him like a priceless and unspeakable treasure. _Shiro_. His arms were silver and gold.

“Say you love me too?”

“Oh, I love you,” Shiro replied at last, so saccharine Keith could all but smell the sugar. He was wearing the stupidest, _sappiest_ expression Keith ever had the good fortune to see, so much so that he had mind to flatten his lips against that crooked mouth and smooch until Shiro’s pillowy amazement turned to salacious thrill. “But if you don’t know that by now, I don’t think I’m quite doing my job.” Keith dragged his fingers in a small circle around Shiro’s navel, squashing down a giggle when the action sourced a shiver and Shiro claimed his hand, gently thumbing the fingers apart. Keith was pulled flush against him, more than close enough to feel Shiro’s arousal rapidly maturing behind the fly of his pants.

“What,” he joked, as Shiro enjoyed himself two handfuls of his ass. “What could you be thinking about?”

Shiro leaned down and put the words right to Keith’s ear. “I’m thinking about how fucking lucky I am that you like to be penetrated.”

“Oh—that’s,” Keith hedged, nerves taking over. “That’s.” It was raw deflection, if poorly executed; unlike him and Shiro knew it. Keith could tell from the way his hands retreated to safer waters, though their steady pressure remained a familiarized source of comfort.

“...Everything okay, sweetheart?” Shiro parted the bangs obscuring Keith’s eyes. “Don’t feel like you can’t say no. I won’t take offense.” And he damn well shouldn’t, what with the events of the past three days (and nights) behind them. Keith didn’t want to say no, not _really_ , and yet.

He closed his eyes and imagined what he’d been anticipating not three hours before… the two of them naked, wrestling wrinkles into Shiro’s grey sheets… Shiro’s large hands on him... a push and pull, an eruption of pleasure… fluid evacuating his body, purple fingers blotting red stains across the bed—

He felt ill.

“Sorry, I…” Keith wet his lips. “I have to get ready to go back tonight. Pidge says she has something to talk about.”

“Something to talk about?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Okay,” Shiro smiled, nosing the crown of Keith’s head. “Wasn’t that easy?”

It _was_ easy, being with Shiro—astonishingly so. That fact shouldn’t have surprised Keith the way it did. After all, he was the notoriously difficult one. But...where had Shiro gone for so long? Surely he hadn’t been in line at the supercenter?

“...Sorry,” Shiro offered in response to the question, confession laced with a pinch of guilt. “I went to see Allura.”

Keith’s heart stopped for the second time that day. “About me?” Shiro leaned down again to kiss his forehead, lips comfortingly soft.

“No,” he demurred. “Not about you. But she knows, now that I’ve seen her.” Another kiss, even softer than the last. Shiro held him near tight enough to convince Keith that all his worries had followed the substantiation of his _accident_ down the sewage pipes, and chased the panacea down with a characteristically Shiro, “Don’t worry. You’re family. If she loves you at all, she’ll understand.”

... _Family?_ It was a forbidden word. Keith could hardly dare to dream it, even when applied to someone as close as Shiro, but— _were_ they? _Could_ they? If it came from Shiro...

He snuffled an evasively noncommittal reply into Shiro’s ribbed shirt, let his lover cradle him there as he reached into the first grocery bag. Shiro grasped a handle and out came a blue bottle of detergent, identical to the one tossed into the recycling half an hour prior. Keith stared in disbelief. “How did you know I used up all the soap? The old bottle was half full.”

“Call it intuition,” said Shiro in his signature, mysterious air. “Care to share whatever happened to the rest of it, though? You make a mess?”

“I, um.” Keith rolled his lips into a tight line and locked his arms around Shiro, heart in his throat. “I was just—Yeah. I made a mess.”

“Mm. I got a text from Hunk while I was out.” Shiro rested his chin atop Keith’s head as he continued unloading the bags. “Said there’s word on the forums about a race going down tonight at Phillips and Rochester. Interested?”

Keith shook his head, inhaling Shiro’s familiar, layered scent. “You know I don’t do that anymore.”

Shiro’s thick eyebrows formed a crooked line. “You don’t?”

“Yeah.” He put his lips to Shiro’s clavicle, bare toes curling against the cool kitchen tile. “You’d worry about me.”

“About what the other riders might do,” Shiro intoned. “About traffic patterns changing unexpectedly. Not that you would make a mistake.”

“You’d worry,” Keith mumbled with a shrug. “I don’t like making you worry, so. I’m done.”

“Well,” Shiro sighed, fingering the hem of Keith’s shorts, “we’ll see if you’re as _done_ with it as you think.”

“Shiro,” said Keith, before he could start to chew that over. “How did Allura react? To...to me.”

“Allura?” Shiro’s hand balled into fists, metal one heavy on the granite counter and the other bunched at Keith’s hip. “She...has other things on her plate right now, honey. I don’t think it really registered.”

“‘Other things on her plate’?”

Shiro’s jaw twitched. “Her home planet, with her father on it, it’s…” He closed his eyes, shut out the world. “It’s gone.” What? Keith knew there was a war going on in that corner of the universe, it was one of the first things Allura had mentioned, but—

“ _Oh_ ,” Keith said, once he’d processed the weight of the statement. _Allura_. “I—can I see her, or?”

The thought seemed to make Shiro uncomfortable. “It’s a little—”

“Not—right now,” Keith amended, before he could protest. “Maybe in the morning? Sometime tomorrow?”

Shiro opened his mouth to protest and Keith momentarily hesitated to consider dialing up the persuasion. There was no denying the moral grey of attempting such manipulation now that he was aware of his abilities, as well as the leverage he held over Shiro should he bring those powers to a spearlike head. Still, he had already convinced himself of the benefits once—had knowingly enthralled Shiro to learn his desires—and with wholly positive results. What was a second time, then? If it was for Allura’s sake, wasn’t it okay for Keith to bend his own, self-imposed rules?

He slid his hands up the hill of Shiro’s chest, lifted himself up on tip-toe to pull Shiro’s mouth to his. “Say yes,” he pleaded, turning the task over to instinct and letting his eyelids fall shut. “ _Say yes_.”

“...Alright,” agreed Shiro, after a few heartbeats. “Just—” Keith opened his eyes to find that Shiro had averted his. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Keith feigned, with cognizant, self-serving innocence. It hardly worked. Shiro stymied a grimace.

“You know what.” His eyes were low and tight. “I know when you’re doing it. You smell different. Taste different. Like ozone, like...” He shook his head, minute. “Like lightning.”

Keith nodded, respectful of the give and take in their relationship and knowing that it was his turn to submit. Shiro pulled fingers through his hair in a conscious type of affection, clear in the crystalline cast of his gaze, and Keith matched him, playing with the long strands of his bangs and ruffling the paper-white hair out of alignment—that blanched patch that stretched catercorner toward Shiro’s crown in a ragged, brushstroke-like streak. Keith nuzzled him, briefly, and Shiro pulled away.

“Don’t do it on purpose.”

“I understand,” Keith said. Shiro searched his face, hunting for something Keith couldn’t identify.

He pulled Keith back into his embrace and, like a landslide, none of it mattered then but the annihilation of Shiro’s kiss.

 

“Pidge,” Keith called, fumbling with his keycard. “I’m back.” She took a while to appear, a while during which Keith noticed she had moved the Galran drive out of the living room and into her own space.

“Welcome back to Earth,” she snarked, emerging from her bedroom with a roll of electrical tape around her slim wrist. Keith walked toward her as she stepped toward him, crossing her arms defensively. “I see you’ve finally decided to drop in. There’s something we need to tal—” She flipped on the hallway light and stopped short, tongue still perched on the rim of her teeth.

It was likely that she had just seen Keith properly: hair mussed into a disheveled polygon, T-shirt creased and lips kiss-swollen, all too shiny. The dreamy look in his eye and the flush that had yet to fade. The love bites scattered under his collar. The thumb he swiped at his lower lip, a final check for any material evidence of what he’d just been doing in the car, or who he’d very carefully yet passionately been doing it to.

“Sorry I’m so late,” he said. “Shiro dropped me off and I got distracted.”

“Did you,” asked Pidge, weakly. “I guess he got you feeling better, then?”

“Yeah, I’m…” Keith smiled small and secretive. “I’m good. Really good.” He reached up, scratching his head. “What was it you were saying? You said we need to talk?”

Pidge glanced down, rolled her fists. “It...it can wait.” Her glasses glinted under the hallway light. “Didn’t you have something to tell me too?”

And Keith saw her, just as she must have seen him; saw the bluish circles under her eyes for want of sleep, the greasy tint to her hair and the pallid cast of her skin. She looked almost sick. Something yielded in Keith’s heart. She needed all kinds of rest, not some sudden news that he wanted to move out.

...That’s right. It wasn’t the time.

“It can wait, too,” he decided aloud. “You should get some sleep.”

Pidge stepped back—slowly, suspiciously—then made her way back into the doorway of her room, the LED glow of her electronics absorbing her like a virus. Keith waited for her door to close before he released the breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. He would tell her.

Tomorrow.

*

Keith sat motionless in the passenger seat of the car, shoulder perpendicular to the backrest and knees pulled up to his collar. Shiro hadn’t said anything when he’d gotten comfortable, surprisingly content to let Keith put his feet all over his fastidiously clean upholstery and get his shoes dangerously close to the faux leather of the transmission. He’d but smoothly pulled into the empty cavern of Allura’s carpark and, without a word on the matter, proceeded to pull out the remaining half of the fried-egg sandwich Keith had made him for lunch and eat it as if they weren’t about to have the somberest meeting of Keith’s short life. Keith watched Shiro’s strong jaw work his food over in wonder.

He couldn’t believe he’d thought this could be anything else but love.

“Hey.” Shiro reached over and slid his metal thumb in a wide arc over Keith’s cheekbones and under his chin. “Stop watching me eat.”

“I can’t,” Keith replied. “It’s interesting, somehow.” Shiro wiggled his chin with the first knuckle of his thumb and shoved the last bite of the sandwich into his mouth, checking his grey shirt over for crumbs. He’d been wearing a lot of monochrome, as of late.

Keith plucked a breadcrumb from Shiro’s black-clad thigh and received a perturbed look upon tossing it into his mouth. “ _Keith_.”

“Don’t look so stony,” he said, licking his lips. “We’re here to see how she’s doing. If you look too serious, you might just make her feel worse.”

Shiro smiled for him, though it didn’t reach past his lips. “...You’re right.” Keith opened his door and motioned for Shiro to do the same with a nod of his head.

“Let’s go.”

Lagging behind, Shiro let Keith lead the way up the elevator and down the long hallway to Allura’s door. It was unlocked. Keith frowned at him, one hand on the knob. Shiro covered it with his own and pushed the door open silently. The open-concept kitchen and sitting room were empty, save a few dirty dishes and a recently-overturned glass of milk. Allura was nowhere to be found.

“Allura,” Shiro called after a few seconds, clearing his throat. “Are you in?” There was no reply, but Keith could hear the soft pads of her footsteps on the carpeting in the hallway. Allura herself appeared not a moment later, emerging from the mouth of the hall like a moth from a gaping maw. Her hair, which Keith knew her to groom each morning until it shrouded her like an immaculate cloud, was matted down on one side of her head and tangled in visible knots. It was Keith’s first time seeing her as anything less than manicured, bare-faced, pillow-creased and barefoot without the house slippers she always liked to wear. She looked harried at best, sickly at worst, focusing on Shiro with hooded eyes as she dragged herself from her dark den.

Then she saw him.

“What is he doing here?” Allura demanded, stabbing an accusing finger in Keith’s direction and squaring herself at Shiro. “Why would you bring him?!”

“He asked about you,” Shiro put forth, abandoning Keith’s side to rush to Allura’s and keeping his words gentle. Keith didn’t miss the way he maneuvered himself between the two of them, as if erecting some strategic sort of wall. “He asked to see you.”

“Well, I have no desire to see _you_ ,” hissed Allura, starting towards him. The finger she held aloft trembled with rage. “I don’t want to see _any_ of you people, I told your kind to get out of my contacts and off of my blasted ship, but _you_ , you _devil,_ you _insidious_ —” Shiro rushed after her as the hand she’d raised unfurled itself and went backward over her head— “ _wretch_ , you are the _last_ person I want to see!” Keith darted backward, raising his forearms as a shield as her hand whipped down at his face. It didn’t connect—collided with something else with a thunderous crack. He lowered his arms and saw Shiro’s metal arm extended between them, still reverberating with the force of her blow. She was stronger than Keith had known.

It occurred to him in shock that Allura had really meant to hurt him.

Shiro was quietly unafraid. “You will _not_ —” his eyes tightened, here, “—harm him.” Allura shoved his chest, to no avail. Shiro absorbed the strike without complaint. It only served to anger her more.

“How can you protect him?” she yelled. “No, I know why!” She tried first to sidestep Shiro, then physically remove him. “How many people has he marked? How many has he condemned?! Without an _ounce_ of guilt—” Shiro seized her arm and bore himself against her shoves, the treads of his shoes skidding over the cream-colored carpet, living hand held behind him to keep Keith at bay. “Damning people with impunity! He is a perfect and _prime_ representative of the Galra empire! _They take everything away!_ ”

“No!” Shiro shouted her down. “We have _talked_ about this! This is _not_ an empire, this is _Keith_ , and you already know how this ends, so you need to _accept it!_ ”

Allura’s struggling subsided until she struck him weakly with her fists. “They _take_ ,” she cried, the shrill note of her voice shattering, “ _everything_ away.” Keith watched her crumble into Shiro’s arms and couldn’t find a shred of jealousy, nor a drop of animosity within himself for this, brilliant, woman. Shiro loved her. Keith loved her just the same.

She outstretched a hand to him once she’d gained control of her sobs and Keith took it, let her reel him in like fishing line. The fine tendrils of her power descended on his mind like rain.

“I’m sorry,” he said, as she pressed a wet cheek to his. “I’m sorry.”

Allura shook her head, long nails catching at his back in the light material of his shirt. “Soon you’ll be near all I have left.” Keith shivered as she blew hair away from his ear, pushing her lips close to form words only he could hear. “Keep your eyes open,” she said, shakily. “Bear witness. He’s the man that loves you.”

She let go before Keith could form a response, powder-white hair billowing at her back as she vanished into the dark hallway. The two of them were left standing there until her bedroom door shut with a soft click.

She didn’t come back.

 

“You haven’t said anything since we left Allura’s.” Shiro broke their silence with an ice pick, closing the door to Keith’s room behind him. There was no one else in the apartment, but it was anyone’s guess how long that fact would hold true. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Shiro,” Keith parried. And what really could he say? That she’d rattled him? That her disheveled appearance and strange message had shaken the foundations of places he couldn’t understand? Something was...wrong, he knew it, but the answer lay somewhere subconscious and inaccessible. Talking wouldn’t help. There was nothing to it but to avoid the thought entirely. Keith was moving on with his life.

Shiro widened his stance in reluctant acceptance, hands at either side of his waist. He cast his gaze in a wide arc around the room, let it settle on the electronic blinking of the seconds of the clock on Keith’s nightstand. “...Your room’s clean.”

“It’s been clean for a while,” Keith chuckled. “You just haven’t been in here.”

“No clothes on the ground,” Shiro observed. “Laundry’s clean. Everything in order. I can’t remember the last time you weren’t up at a decent hour. What changed?”

Keith shrugged. “You, I guess.”

“Me?” Shiro arched an eyebrow, but made no movement otherwise. “You keep your room clean for me? You gave up sleeping in for _me_?”

“Well, I wouldn’t see much of you otherwise,” Keith admitted. Shiro didn’t like to drink heavily in front of him, and as it turned out, he rose pretty early when he wasn’t nursing a hangover. “And as for the room, I mean. Who wants to hang out in a messy room? I’d never get you in here if it was trashed.”

“Is that why you made your bed this morning?” Shiro wanted to know, sidling forward without removing his hands from his hips. He’d taken a hard candy from the glovebox on the way to the apartment, and now his breath shrouded his face in an invisible cloud of lemon-lime. “Because nobody wants to _hang out_ on a messy bed?”

Keith could feel a blush rising to his cheeks as Shiro entered his personal space pelvis-first. “I...no.” Shiro walked forward, forcing Keith backward until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. He fell backward willingly at the feather-light brush of Shiro’s burnished fingers at his chin.

“Open your legs, kitten,” was all Keith knew before Shiro was sliding between his thighs. The friction (and constriction) of his pants was maddening as Shiro lined his fly up with Keith’s and performed one long, rolling thrust. _Mm_.

“How do you do this?” Keith posed the question as Shiro rocked back and forth in movements that were as deliberate as they were comfortingly erotic. “How did you know I wanted a distraction?”

“Alien juju,” Shiro said, stone-solemn. Keith didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, until Shiro’s face softened into a small smile. “Hey. I’m only half serious. The bond doesn’t hurt, but—you looked distant. I knew I had to bring you back into the present.” His fingers played at Keith’s waist, encircling it entirely and delighting in a liberal squeeze. “And what better way to do it...?”

Keith acknowledged that with a hum. “...You do realize this little waist you like so much is a Galra trait, don’t you?”

“And not the only one,” was Shiro’s reply, narrowing Keith’s world down to just the two of them as he surged into an impassioned kiss. Keith slid one hand into Shiro’s skin fade and the other under the shirt at his back, locking his ankles around his lover and pushing their tongues together. Shiro was ready to christen this bed, he could tell from the insistent way he moved his hips, and Keith was all ready to peel these pants off, feel that long _stroke_.

He yanked Shiro in with his knees, held his face close with both hands. Shiro’s lips curved against his in a promising smile, and—

Pidge opened the door to his room, expression middling between searching and confused. “Keith, are you home-?” Her eyes alighted on him as he broke away from Shiro and she stood there a moment, glancing from one to the other then back again. Her face went hard then, vanishing with a slam of the door, but not before Keith caught the inexplicable look of _betrayal_ that had flashed there, just before she’d gone.

He pushed Shiro off and hurriedly straightened first Shiro’s shirt, then his own.

“What is it?” Shiro asked, at Keith’s urgency. “It’s all right, Pidge is mature enough to handle—”

“She didn’t react right,” Keith explained, standing up. “She should’ve...laughed, gotten embarrassed or something, but she…” Shiro followed him from his bedroom, shallow disappointment shifting to consternation as Keith caught up with Pidge in the foyer. She ignored him, reaching for the door handle. “Pidge.” He grabbed her arm. “Pidge!”

“What,” she snapped, twisting him off with a violent yank. “What do you want?”

“What’s wrong with you?” Keith pressured. “This isn’t like you. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“Keith,” Shiro called from behind. The concern in his words was real. “Listen, if you need some space, Katie, then—”

“No,” Pidge growled, “no, you don’t get to call me that. Only my family calls me that. You are _not_ family, you—you bastard, you—”

Keith caught her shoulders without a glance back to see the color draining from Shiro’s face. “Shiro’s _not_ a—”

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?!” she shouted around him. “I hacked the system, I found the report! I know what you did! _You told me they died in an accident!_ ”

“I’m sorry.” Keith angled his head to see Shiro’s breaths coming short and fast. “I’m sorry, yes, there—there really was an explosion, but they—Matt and your father, they—”

“They went to your prison,” Pidge screamed. Keith’s grip on her slight shoulders had turned forceful by now, caging her in place as if she were a wild beast. “They went to the same prison as you and you _snapped_ and _you killed them!_ And then you dared to call me and tell me they died _on the shuttle!_ I hate you! _I hate you!_ ”

“No!” Shiro cried. “I would never, I-! I tried to _save_ them, I—where do you think I got this scar?! Why do you think I look—like _this_?!” He dug his nails into the juncture of flesh and metal, where his synthetic arm fused with his body. “I _loved_ your family, Pidge, how could you ever think I would-!”

“You called me _before_ you went to the med bay.” Angry tears flooded Pidge’s face. “How could you use your only telecom call to tell me they were dead when they were _alive?!_ ”

“ _Because_ it was my only call,” begged Shiro. “Because I wouldn’t be able to call you again, because I— _saw_ it.” Pidge turned to Keith in desperation, but what could he say?

“I can’t,” he breathed, in answer to her silent plea. “I _can’t._ ”

“You _can_ ,” spat Pidge. “He’s not your _husband_.”

“He’s my home,” Keith answered.

“This is your home,” Pidge implored with rising volume. “Here! With me!”

Keith’s hands left her shoulders. “I love him.”

“You were supposed to love _me_.” Sickly fury colored her face, her eyes. “You were supposed to be my _brother_.”

“I’m sorry,” said Keith—softly, as if betrayal could be gentle. “I’m...I’m moving out.” Pidge dropped her head and clenched her little fists. Her small body shook with spite as she forced the remainder of her tears down her throat.

“Then I hate you, too.” Keith reached for her again, but she had already escaped, the pitter-patter of her rubber soles on the metal stairs outside her only remnant in a room full of air like thickened cream.

Shiro’s voice sliced sadly through. “...Keith—”

“Get the car, Shiro,” Keith called sedately. “And I’ll get my things.”

 

It was a small blessing that the ride home was so short.

There were no words exchanged in the car; Shiro had had but one question when Keith appeared at the foot of the stairs with his whole life thrown into the three trash bags in his hands _. And the bike?_

 _Leave it_ , Keith answered. _I’ll come back for it later_. And that was all there was to say, from the instant that Keith dumped his things into the trunk to the point Shiro was depositing them gently onto his carpeted floor. They would find space for them later. Together.

But first.

“Shiro,” Keith broke in, as the final bag met the floor. “Why don’t you ever tell me the truth?”

Shiro distinctly hated the question. “Are you saying that I lie to you?”

“No,” Keith lamented, “but you never tell me the _truth_.” He was at odds with Shiro, the two of them at opposite ends of the breakfast bar and neither side with any intention to yield. “Darlin’, what are you hiding? Why don’t you trust me?”

The muscles in Shiro’s jaw worked themselves over in spite of a deepening flush at the rare endearment. “Keith, if you don’t...if you didn’t believe me, earlier, then—”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” Keith cut in, sweeping his bangs out of his eyes. Shiro shifted uncomfortably in response to his displeasure, which to Shiro’s person was all but tangible—or maybe it was a reaction to Keith’s abrupt reference to the omnipresent elephant in the room, dragged out now on a crimson lead and presented like evidence at trial. Shiro shifted again and Keith’s glare migrated north until it burned his toes, made them curl. “You always decide everything by yourself, always have to be the one in control, always take my choice away if you can. The only person you open up to is Allura, but what about me?

You know I trust you, Shiro, you _know_ what I’m talking about. No more secrets, not after this. Tell me the _truth_. Don’t make me rip it from you.”

“Your _choice_ is an illusion,” Shiro said, ignoring the poorly-concealed threat with the grace Keith had come to expect. “If you trust me, then trust me on _this_. I know what’s best for us.”

“Maybe you do,” Keith sniffed, “but don’t I deserve to know?” Shiro said nothing, so Keith wound up his resolve. “Tell me.”

“I,” Shiro’s head canted left, right, “can’t.”

“You _can_.” The word was embroidered in red. Keith tasted acid, the weight of his poisonous magic trembling on his tongue. Sharp. He could smell it coming—and so could Shiro. “Tell me the truth or I’ll—I swear I’ll—”

“ _I can’t!_ ” Shiro slammed his synthetic hand against the bar, shattering Keith’s concentration and dispersing the effects of his glamour like dry leaves in the wind. “I won’t, I—if you knew what I know—if you _left_ me, Keith—I couldn’t _stand_ it, I—” Shiro’s expression contorted into something stricken, something pained. “I love you, I _love_ you,  I _can’t_ -!”

“Shiro.” Keith fixed him with an honest gaze and tried not to sigh. “Do you think I don’t know? About your second sight.” Shiro’s face untwisted, froze. Fell.

“I.” He clenched. “I...don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know the future. Pieces of it, before it happens.” Keith lifted his palms and let them fall, an action meant to soothe the strained emotion screaming in the taut lines of Shiro’s face.

“...Did you expect me not to notice?”

Shiro glanced over his shoulder, as though anyone else could be there, some other lover standing quiet to whom Keith could be speaking but him. His brave return to the brunt of Keith’s knowing gaze was as slow as it was uncertain. “And you don’t… _care_?”

“About what?”

A droplet of sweat came dislodged with the bob of Shiro’s Adam’s apple. “That I know.” Yes, Shiro _knew_ things—but what?

“Just another uncomfortable truth,” Keith dismissed, as good-naturedly as he could muster. “We have a lot of those, you and I.”

“No,” Shiro denied, vehemently shaking his head. “You’re...you’re not okay with it, you’ll...want to know things, eventually. Ask questions I don’t have the answers to, get upset when I can’t give them. Start thinking about yourself and your place in the universe and then I’ll just be a reminder of the void, and of the hole in your life where free will used to be. And then you’ll leave me.” Shiro’s cheeks were dry, but his words were world-weary and resigned. “And then you’ll leave me.” Ah. It had happened before. Keith scuffed his toes over the carpet, leaving little lines in the shag like sand.

“Once upon a time,” he reflected, “I had the thought that you were the most dangerous man I’d ever met. Today I still think that might be true. But if it’s true that you’re the most dangerous, then you also must be the most forgiving.” Shiro cast his eyes down at his metal hand where it lay curled on on the counter as Keith raised his own gaze to his face. “I don’t think you’re out of your mind, Shiro. But any sane person would have noticed that I’m not like other lovers. When it comes to you I’m possessive, and needy, and useless when it comes to acting like an Earthling, and for that I’m sorry, but it’s not my point. The point is that I’m an alien, and I chose you because I need you. And if you really think that I could ever leave you, then Allura was right.” Keith dropped his shoulders. “You really are a madman.”

“Keith,” Shiro whispered, but Keith shook his head, smiling in consolation as he applied the force of his will, just a lick. _Come here_. Shiro resisted for one, heartstopping second before Keith’s feet departed the ground—Shiro was on his side of the room, arms around his waist and spiriting him up to eye level for kisses soft and sweet and butterfly.

“I am in love with you,” Shiro swore, vibrating like a plucked string. “More than I thought possible. More than I thought I...had capacity for.” He ducked his head as most he could, with Keith so near and dear. “But if you knew what I—”

“I don’t care,” Keith promised, closing his arms around Shiro’s neck like a comfort blanket. “You’re my man. A _good_ man. I chose you. I _choose_ you.” He let their foreheads fall together and Shiro’s lily-white fringe tickled his eyes. “I’ll always choose you. As many times as it takes.”

And maybe that would just have to do, if Shiro would never allow Keith the truth; if all Keith could do was to be there for him through the crystal visions, even if he could never heal him, nor help him find peace. Happiness came first, or at least the illusion of it, should that be enough. Shiro might just convince himself of it, if Keith could weave a _spell_ surreptitiously close to the real thing. _Darling_. The things he’d do for love.

 _I only wish you would tell me how I’ll hurt you._ Keith held his tongue, wrapped his legs around Shiro’s hips.

He did not ask. He would not ask.

“I would do anything for you,” Shiro quietly professed, as he swept them away to their bedroom.

The communion they shared that night was bittersweet.

*

“You’re really leaving.”

Allura met his eyes in the round reflection of her compact mirror as she rubbed on her makeup. He looked so forlorn there in the glass, against the bare backdrop of her eerily empty bedroom. “Don’t look so glum,” she said, tossing her brush into the powder-pink makeup pouch floating at her side. “After all, it brings good tidings. Less distractions and more time for you and Shiro to do whatever it is you’re doing when he’s ignoring my messages.”

So she knew about that, then. Keith was transported back to that morning’s post-breakfast events and the intrusive beeping of Shiro’s communicator as two strong hands scaled the sensitive inside of his thighs. Shiro moved away for an instant to toss the meddling device into the couch cushions before resuming his ministrations, the warmth and weight of his broad chest sinking through the shirt at Keith’s back. He hiked it up at the hem and Shiro pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the side of his neck. _You’re the only one for me_ , he’d whispered, and slipped a synthetic finger beneath the band of his boxer briefs. Keith’s knees buckled in real time.

“Ugh, stop thinking about it.” Allura yanked him out of the fantasy, glossed lips wrinkling into a frown.

Keith pursed his own lips right back at her. “Get out of my head.”

“She’s not in your head,” Lance interjected, toting a pair of white duffel-like bags into the center of the room in three long-legged strides. “It’s all over your face. _Hermosa_ , what are you doing?! Haven’t I told you you don’t need that stuff?”

“It’s just a bit of powder,” retorted Allura without lowering her puff. “You know I’ll get oily without it in this heat. Are you all packed?”

Keith’s arm shot out to catch Lance by the elbow. “Wait, you’re leaving too?”

Lance looked at him like he’d just sprouted a second head. “Of course.” He couldn’t say it didn’t make sense. Leaving Earth’s airspace meant leaving both Terran laws and taboos behind, and Keith knew that keeping his relationship with Allura out of sight must take a toll on someone like Lance, who had liked nothing more than to show off his prior girlfriends, buy them nice things, take them nice places.

But to leave his home planet with his family behind… Keith just hadn’t known things between the two of them had gotten that serious. Did Lance’s parents know he was leaving? Were they even okay with his relationship? Aware of it?

Maybe Pidge was right to refuse to speak to him. He really was a bad friend.

Allura was speaking again when he touched back down to Earth. “Coran says he’s finished preparing your room, should you choose to use it.” Lance nodded lackadaisically.

“What?” Keith shook his head. “Didn’t he already have it ready?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why would you think so?”

“When he was here in the wintertime, he told me you’d said to fix a space on the ship. That was for Lance, wasn’t it?” Knowing Shiro’s ability, it was the most likely explanation, but Allura was frowning again.

“It seems Coran talks a bit too much,” she mused, after a beat. “I’ll have to have a chat with him about discussing my affairs.”

“Uh oh,” Lance said. Keith winced and opened his mouth to say something, _anything_ , but Shiro was there in the doorway then, with a farewell bottle of merlot tucked under his arm and four paper cups in hand.

“Princess,” he acknowledged with a flourish, punctuating the pop of the cork with a playful little bow. Allura accepted the cup he offered with a reserved smile.

“Though I’m not sure that title belongs to me, anymore,” she sighed, before taking a tentative sip. “I’m afraid there’s not much left to be princess of.”

“Princess of our hearts, then,” Lance supplied, as Shiro filled his cup. “Forever and always.”

Keith nodded along. “I’ll drink to that.”

“A mental toast to that, then,” Shiro agreed. “So we don’t get wine on the white carpet. Good?” He passed the bottle to Keith. “Come along then, dear. The _adults_ have matters to discuss.”

Lance gaped as Allura was paraded out of the room with a giggle. “I thought he was talking to you! Did he just steal my girlfriend?!”

“‘Dear’ is the one thing he _doesn’t_ call me,” Keith replied. “Too matronly, I guess.”

“And the wine?”

Keith shrugged and finished off his cup. “It’s just libation, Lance. Don’t read into it.” Silence gathered as Lance drained the rest of his drink in turn. Keith took the opportunity to sidle a little closer. It was never too late to change. “...So how have you been?”  Lance rolled not only his eyes but his head. Keith bristled in offense. “What!”

“You,” Lance grinned. “You’re so awkward.” He fended off a shove and crushed his paper cup in hand. “No, I’m...I’m pretty good. Yeah. Whaddya want me to say? I’m off the street, I’m not in prison, I’ve went and scored the most beautiful girl in the _universe_ —I’d say I’m doing pretty well for myself, Texas.”

“About that,” Keith began. “About Allura, I mean—do your parents know you’re-?”

Lance blinked down at his smashed cup. “Yeah, I mean. They know. They’re not thrilled, man, but they know. As for the whole going off-planet thing…” He looked up to the ceiling as though it would yield him answers from the great Beyond. “I figured I’d act first and talk later, if you get my meaning. Not just with them, but with everyone. The only one I actually called about it was Hunk, I knew he’d be supportive, but he was too busy with the shop to come see me off. You know he paid off that debt, right?”

“That’s great,” Keith said, and meant it. “Seems like these days everything’s finally coming up roses.”

“Yeah.” Lance chuckled, then sniffed. “Well. I’ve gotta grab the last of these bags, so—”

“No, sorry—” He stepped aside to give him some room with the luggage. “Go ahead.” Lance shifted both bags to one hand, hesitated before giving Keith an unsure little salute, and was gone.

Keith stood around in the bare bedroom for a few minutes more before setting off in the direction of the kitchen—namely, the refrigerator if it was still there, seeing as it was the best place to stash this half-empty bottle of wine. His footfalls shortened as he neared his destination, and Keith came to a stop at the end of the hallway, just out of Shiro and Allura’s line of sight where, without any furniture to rest on, they were lounging about on the carpet. Keith crouched a bit and leaned over closer. If Shiro refused to divulge what he knew, that left Keith with only drastic measures to get the information he wanted. Looked like his efforts were paying off already.

He’d caught his name.

“Speaking of _the boy_ ,” Allura purposely slurred, in a manner that had Keith wondering how salacious this conversation was going to get, “I see things are getting pretty serious.”

Shiro made a noncommittal noise. “He’s figured me out, you know.” There was a rustle of clothing before Allura spoke again.

“Does he know it’s hereditary?”

“Maybe,” Shiro said. “He doesn’t let on much.”

Allura harrumphed in disappointment. “I thought Earthlings were supposed to be chatty.” A bout of silence stretched between them, but Keith couldn’t see them to figure the reason why. Allura’s voice returned suddenly. “Oh, no—”

“There is a theory,” Shiro declared as she emitted a groan, “that the reason humans—and Alteans, I guess—evolved such wide and white sclera was to better facilitate nonverbal communication between members of the social group. Made it easier for us to see where others were looking, and made for more obvious facial cues. Communication is vital to species like ours.”

“All right,” sighed Allura, as Keith felt his own eyebrows raise in confusion. “And?”

“Well, you may or may not have noticed, but it’s not easy to tell where the majority of Galra are looking at all, at any given point in time,” Shiro replied. “From which we can extrapolate—”

“That communication has never been important to Galra,” Allura finished for him, with a touch of impatience. “Fine. I would vouch for as much. They have a reputation. But Keith looks human, mostly, so I don’t much see your point.”

Shiro tutted teasingly. “Correlation, not causation, princess. Maybe he’s more Galra than you think.”

“Knowing what he did to capture you? I’d believe it,” Allura returned. Behind the wall, Keith was wilting. Judging from the sound of his voice, however, Shiro was unperturbed.

“Keith’s brand of manipulation is peanuts compared to mine.” Allura made a reluctant sound and Keith heard Shiro reposition himself on the ground. “Forgive him.”

Allura was quiet enough that Keith struggled to hear. “The two of you only wanted to be loved. There’s nothing to forgive.” She exhaled a sigh, long and soft. “And even if there was—”

“You haven’t forgotten our promise.”

“Of course I haven’t,” Allura retorted muddily, snuffling through some acute congestion. “I wouldn’t forget, I—I just don’t see why you won’t come with me, why you won’t come back to the ship—”

“Oh, Allura,” Shiro said tenderly as she openly started to cry. “It wouldn’t matter.” He let her weep for a moment before delivering a gentle admonishment. “Hey now. Don’t cry. You knew this day would come. We can’t always have what we want.”

“Well, we should,” sighed Allura, sobs subsiding. Keith imagined her dabbing her eyes with the pink handkerchief she always carried; the one with the lace. “You more than most.”

“You never did give me that dance.”

“Dance with your boy,” Allura snorted, ignoring Shiro’s subsequent protest that it _wasn’t the same at all._

“You know what my mother wanted?” Shiro sounded wistful. “She always said she wanted to see her only child happily married. I wish she got that. I wish I could say I did that for her.”

“Ask him,” Allura urged with sincerity. “You still have time.”

Shiro hummed, again. “He would say no.” The quiet drew out until Allura took a mental tally.

“Where is he, anyway? Lance is out by the pod—”

Keith tore away from his hiding spot and stole away to the bedroom, loudly marching back into earshot with the bottle of wine held aloft like a flag. “Sorry to interrupt, but where does this-?”

Shiro stood from the floor without noticing the suspicious way Allura’s reddened eyes narrowed behind her handkerchief. “I’ll take it, sweet pea. Sorry for the trouble.” Keith met her gaze with a smile while Shiro carded fingers through his untrimmed hair. Her eyelashes fluttered in amusement.

“I should be going. After all, I told Lance we would be well on our way by ten.”

“Already?” Shiro’s eyes widened. “What time is it?”

Keith checked his comm display. “It’s already half past nine.”

“Naan? You mean that bread you eat with curry?” Keith scowled at Shiro’s shit-eating grin. “That doesn’t make any sense, baby, I don’t understand—”

“Lance,” Allura called, as Keith whapped him. “Lance, are you ready?”

“Be careful on your way,” Shiro said, as Lance appeared behind the glass separating them from the balcony. Allura wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a noisy kiss on his cheek.

“We will,” she promised, reaching for Keith next. He accepted his kiss without complaint and didn’t try to break away when she didn’t let him go. “Be safe yourself,” she whispered. “I’ll see you again.”

 

Keith watched the travel pod’s white facade slowly disappear into the stratosphere and felt Shiro’s fingers interlacing with his.

“We never did get to that last job,” he murmured.

“No,” Shiro admitted. “The ship is still missing its alignment crystals.”

Keith bit his lip. “...Doesn’t seem fair.”

“It’s not,” said Shiro, rolling him into a tight embrace and jangling the keys to be put into the mailbox. “Come, honey. Let’s go home.”

*

“Lance told me Hunk’s paid off the debt on his shop,” Keith said, conversationally. Shiro’s arm squeezed a bit tighter around his middle and Keith responded in kind, bracing his heels into the couch cushions to nuzzle into the crook of Shiro’s neck.

It had been a fortnight since Allura’s departure and Pidge was still unresponsive to his messages. There was always the simple option of driving over and knocking on her door, but Keith had years of experience to tell him that Pidge reacted infinitely better to confrontation if he waited out her volatile cooldown period, however short or... _long_ that may be. He wasn’t in any sort of proximity to speed up the process, but hey. Shiro, with a toughened sort of expression, made the point that he likely wasn’t around to slow it down, either.

Shiro _also_ made it a point to keep Keith thoroughly distracted from the unpleasant situation—and oh, _hellfire_ , could the man _distract_. Keith couldn’t putz around the apartment without Shiro’s hands finding a firm grip on his body, and he certainly wasn’t complaining. They snuggled, they cuddled, they stayed up watching shitty pay-per-view. They decided on dinner and cooked as a team. There was nothing outside of the intimate little universe he found Shiro building for him in the secure walls of their home, and nothing made Keith more happy than to be complicit in its construction, stealing kisses whenever he could and showing his appreciation in the form of his sex, which Shiro readily accepted—be it the bedroom or the kitchen, day or night, a shared desire or a welcome surprise.

Day or night, yes...particularly _night_. Shiro had a way with his body, put Keith to bed like nothing else, and when all was said and done and they had turned down ‘til morning, Keith dreamed of the man in whose arms he lay, of Shiro watching over his sleeping body and slipping large hands down over his front, stomach swelling under his touch. A red chrysanthemum bloomed in his mouth. Keith woke first, and violently. Shiro slumbered on.

But nevermind that. He was drifting off again, swathed in Shiro, warm and content with a belly full of cheesy pizza whose dough they’d kneaded together.

 _This is it_ , he thought, pulling the throw blanket a little higher in his drowsiness to cover Shiro’s exposed arm. _You are it_.

Joy.

Shiro turned the volume on the television up a tick as a siren blared to life in the far distance. “Was it a mortgage?” Oh, right. Hunk’s shop.

“Not a mortgage, just a loan. But the guy was a shark,” Keith explained. “Put a lot of pressure on him. It’s pretty much the only reason we were able to goad him into working for Allura. God knows he needed the cash more than Lance or I ever did.”

“I remember you mentioned it once.” Shiro shifted under his weight. “He’s lucky he converted the money when he did. Good to know everything worked out.”

Keith squinted against Shiro’s skin. “What do you mean, ‘lucky he converted the money when he did’?”

Shiro bent his neck until their noses were touching to look at Keith properly. “Well, Altean credits have been made redundant since the planet was destroyed. They’re worth next to nothing. Any amount left unconverted to our or any other Alliance currency is essentially worthless.” Well, Keith hadn’t converted anything since his last trip to the credit union nearly two months ago. _Shit_. Shiro was chuckling.

“Yeah, me neither. But I’ve got enough converted cash in the bank to last us a year at least. If we live within our so-called means, that is.”

Keith pushed their foreheads together and stared him down. “Is that why we’ve been eating in so often lately? To live within our _means_?”

Shiro had the nerve to look offended as the siren in the background grew a little louder. “We’re not _poor_ , Keith.” Then, at Keith’s unconvinced expression: “You wanna see my balance?”

“I think you just wanna show off.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Go on then,” Keith teased. “Bring out the nest egg.” Shiro retrieved his communicator from the coffee table, brought up the floating display, and logged into his credit union with an exaggerated swipe.

The account’s balance readout was 0.

Shiro blinked rapidly, like something was in his eye and he was trying to get it out.

“I’m guessing that’s not what it said this morning,” Keith whispered at his reaction, or rather the lack of it.

“Hell no,” said Shiro. He brought up the account activity and was met with a red notification at the top of the interface as the siren outside grew to an irritating volume.

 _Account funds suspended. Please contact your local branch for further information_.

“Shiro,” Keith said, in alarm.

Shiro waved him off. “It’s alright, baby, probably just a mixup with the bank—”

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith gasped, covering the comm’s holograph with one hand. Shiro glanced up and followed the line of his pointer finger to the lower corner of the television, the picture displayed there, and the scrolling text at the bottom of the muted Alliance news application.

_—kashi Shirogane, former Academy exploration pilot and escaped inmate, believed to be at large in the greater Phoenix area and operating under the alias Sven Holgersson—_

Shiro’s outdated mugshot vanished and was replaced by Keith’s overexposed Academy photo.

— _in an indecent relationship with the extraterrestrial Keith Doe. The two are armed and dangerous. Citizens are not to engage and instead to contact the Alliance tip line at the following number:_

“You said she would expunge that information,” Keith breathed, shakily clawing at Shiro’s bare arm. “Didn’t she? D-Didn’t she promise to—” Shiro was unresponsive. Keith had time to look up and see that his face had gone slack, see the galaxy turning behind his eyes and feel himself drawn into its divinity, to its—answers, to its—starry miasma—

Shiro snapped out of his trance and to their horror, the cacophony of the siren outside went prematurely silent.

Keith jumped as Shiro grabbed his shoulders, already starting to sweat. “Pack a bag.”

“What did you see?” Shiro threw off the throw blanket and jumped to his feet, jostling Keith thoroughly on his way to the ceramic bowl on the counter that held the car keys. Keith clutched at the blanket around himself until it was straining at the weave. “Shiro—what did you _see_?!”

“I’m going for the car,” Shiro declared. “You pack. Where’re the blaster guns?”

“In the hall closet,” Keith said, as Shiro dove for it. “Shiro—”

“Meet me on the balcony when you have the bag,” Shiro cut in, checking the safety on the gun he handed to Keith and pocketing the remaining charges. “Lock the door after me when I leave. Use the manual lock and don’t answer for anyone even if it sounds like I came back, and when you’re done—” Shiro reached a little deeper into the closet before standing. Keith’s gaze flickered down to his mechanical hand as he thumbed the little object to life. Oh.

A lighter.

Keith seized his wrist and held on tight, forcing Shiro’s taut body into contact with his. Shiro ground his teeth as Keith wound around him, inhaled a lungful of his scent.

“Be careful.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Shiro bit out. “They’ll try to capture me. They want me alive, but you—you’re not even human to them, they’ll try to—” His eyes squeezed shut as Keith pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, rubbed the tips of their noses together with fearful reluctance.

“Okay,” Keith said, once they were sharing breath. “Okay.” Shiro cupped his face as well he could with the blaster in hand.

“Don't be afraid,” he murmured, with sudden conviction. “Not an ounce of flesh, not a drop of blood, not a single strand of hair.” A kiss, on his lips. “No one will harm you as long as I am alive.”

Gooseflesh erupted over Keith’s arms as Shiro’s eyes sent him spiraling back to a night not so long ago, one marked by a streetlight and a knife and a proclamation that had gotten under his skin. Shiro had been wearing a smile, then, but the dovelike confidence he exuded was the same, rippling through his Word in a molten river of creation.

_Keith’s brand of manipulation is peanuts compared to mine._

_I saw your bright eyes, and I...well. I just knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away from you._

_One day you’re going to love me._

_Just let me know when that day is._

“S-Shiro,” Keith said brokenly as they parted, lips first, fingertips last. “Shiro, _Shiro_ —”

“The bag, baby,” Shiro reminded gently, and was out of the apartment with a barely audible _click_.

 

Keith rushed the door on wobbly knees a few seconds later, checking the jamb and the lock. He slammed the manual lock closed and tested the bar twice before stepping backward into his short-lived home. Okay. Okay. The bag.

The bag.

He tore into the bedroom closet and located his backpack, the same he’d used for Allura’s previous jobs and the one he’d worn the night he’d tumbled down a fucking elevator chute. Keith grabbed it with no small amount of effrontery. What it lacked in luck, it made up for in storage and reliability. He put it on backward, opened its mouth, and stood.

Keith worked quickly and methodically, tossing things into the pack as he moved from room to room: the toothbrushes from the bathroom; the shortsword he’d stolen from their last, botched job that by now had metamorphosed down to the size of a common dagger. The remaining set of blaster charges from under the bed, whatever non-perishables they had, and a proper set of street clothes for each of them but especially for Shiro, who had left the apartment barefoot, wearing nothing but a grey pair of sweatpants and a worn T-shirt. Keith threw on Shiro’s oversized textile jacket and was already rifling under the sink for the large canister of accelerant meant for the dusty electric fireplace when the pounding began at the door.

And he was ready the instant the Alliance Federation burst through, dropping an igniting flame on their gas-soaked mattress and sending lines of flame spiderwebbing throughout the apartment. The first men through the door stepped into a carpeted puddle of gas, immolated entire, and Keith vaulted over the wall of flame to run for the little balcony under a hail of blaster fire—flung open the door and leapt into the darkness, over the railing, without thought or care for the height from which he fell, so far from the ground on the eighteenth floor—

Keith landed in the backseat of Shiro’s black hovercar and they were off at breakneck speed, plagued by wailing sirens as the Alliance took off in pursuit.

He pulled himself upright with some bruised difficulty as Shiro slammed the roof of the cab shut. “Shiro—”

“Sorry,” Shiro ground out, “I didn’t mean for you to have to jump like that, but—”

“How did they find us-?” Keith cried, between breaths. “How did they—so suddenly?”

“Security tapes, most likely,” Shiro muttered as the vehicle shuddered under a hairpin turn. “Same ones Kolivan pulled. They probably got an ID off me, cross-referenced facial recognition in the local network—” He shot back the barest of glances, threading them into traffic in attempt to lose their multiple tails. “Keith, babe, I’m gonna need you to drive.” Keith balked a little, but started shrugging off his backpack. “Those cops following us maneuver a little too well. I don’t think we’ll lose them without a firefight.”

Keith clambered over the armrest between the two front seats, slipping an ankle between Shiro’s knees and taking over the controls. Shiro made certain his foot was on the accel before climbing out of the seat and into the rear of the cab. Keith yanked the seat forward as Shiro lifted the cushion of the backseat to access the underseat storage. “You think the cruisers are AI, then? Is that the reason we haven’t been fired on?”

“Yeah.” Shiro was doing something in the backseat, but Keith couldn’t see what. Shiro’s car didn’t handle the same as the ones Hunk provided for racing; the controls didn’t respond as fast as he was used to, and the accel required a delicate touch. He clipped the wing of a passenger vehicle as they dove toward the neon yellow streets of the industrial sector and winced, half-expecting a scolding from Shiro. None came. Shiro was still occupied with the blaster charges, and a metallic-sounding object under the seat. “AI cars won’t fire with non-target civilians in range unless they’re first provoked. They also maneuver better than ordinary pilots, as they know I know. But they don’t know that I know that the system is linked to the living copilot’s vital signs. If I take that out, the system shuts down. Head for the pier, love.”

“Wait,” Keith demanded, processing. “Wait, are you—” Shiro finally raised the object he’d been fiddling with into the reflection of the rear-view mirror. An Academy-issue blaster rifle. “ _Shiro!_ ”

Shiro shot out the rear windshield in a hail of plexiglass, and the sedan was assaulted with return fire.

“Shit,” Shiro spat, recalibrating the rifle and strapping himself in place with the seatbelt to combat the rifle’s recoil. “ _Keith!”_ Keith gunned the arcs and the car phased past the standard four-power-level acceleration limit.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, he thought, as they rocketed through the busy streets, traffic humming past with an unearthly sort of musicality. Shiro didn’t seem it, at first blush, but Keith knew him to be the type to jailbreak his vehicle—you know, just in case. Nor was it shocking that Shiro had put him in the driver’s seat; no, despite his current dearth of finesse, Shiro knew Keith could handle himself. What never ceased to disturb Keith was Shiro’s blind devotion, that jaw-dropping willingness to put himself between Keith and harm’s way—the stony determination in the set of his brows when Keith had glanced back at the rearview and the unflinching way he crouched behind the headrests, metal arm self-stabilizing the long-barreled rifle as the car lost altitude, dipped left and right. Keith nearly smashed into a coupe as one of the Alliance’s blasts narrowly missed the roof above Shiro’s head. “Shiro, we’re at the pier—”

“Go for the water, toward the mountains,” Shiro shouted over the roar of the wind. “Put it in hyperdrive, get some distance before they catch up!”

Keith did as he said, but. “The AI’ll get a lock on us over the water without civilians in the way—”

“Don’t _think_ , baby,” Shiro said, without looking back at the driver’s seat. “Just trust me.” He settled into his aim as they gained ground, and didn’t miss a second time: the last Keith saw of the cruiser on their tail was the broken windshield, splattered with red. The Alliance vehicle smashed into the docks as Keith shifted into hyperdrive and the air was sucked backward out of the car.

Shiro gasped for oxygen and Keith made the mistake of diverting his attention from the wheel; a bolt from one of the remaining Alliance cruisers hit a back wing, taking the arc there out with it— and the sedan, at an altitude of only six hundred feet, plunged toward the water.

“ _Keith!_ ” Shiro screamed, as he tried to correct, dimming the front arc to compensate, but the arc circuit was broken, and Keith wasn’t Shiro—he wasn’t a trained pilot, he didn’t know how to _fix_ this. All he could do was point their nose toward the sky and hope that once the power failed their velocity would coast them to safety, but as for _safety_ there was none. Keith turned away from the clouds and witnessed Shiro send the cruiser that shot them barreling into the man-made lake. He downed the last with a controlled sort of anger, and whipped around just as the arc system shuddered to a halt.

“I’m so sorry,” Keith pleaded, twisting around and reaching for him as the car fell forward as a glider would at the end of its journey. “I-I’ve killed us, I—”

“Put your seatbelt on,” Shiro said, eyes wild.

“I—what?”

“Put your seatbelt o—”

 

They crashed into the side of the westernmost mountain, downing more than a few trees in the process and leaving a ragged skidmark like a deep scar upon the dark earth. At least, that’s how Shiro would describe it, once they’d gathered their wits and assessed the damage they’d wreaked upon the environment. Keith would say it was poetic. Afterward, he would say they were fucked. Now, upon waking, he would say his head hurt, his _leg_ hurt, and Shiro, _Shiro_ —

“Fuck,” Shiro groaned from behind, and Keith raised his head and shoulders over the armrest to take him in, crumpled on the floor of the cab, half-underneath the seats.

“God—are you all right?”

“Yes. Fuck,” Shiro reiterated, hefting himself up onto the seat like it was some herculean task. The rifle was broken in two in the spot his body had lain. “What about you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I—I think, I—” Keith met Shiro’s eyes and saw the storm gathering there; the coiled tension of the muscles in his arms and shoulders and the way his knees spread, almost imperceptibly, as he held his gaze. Keith felt his tongue dart out to wet his lips. “What?” He knew damn well what—it was his own influence, after all; his own undoing.

“Come here,” whispered Shiro. “Let me get a look at you.” Keith put his arms out for Shiro to pull him into the backseat and landed haphazard in Shiro’s lap. They paused, still breathing erratically from the crash, but then they were on each other in an instant, lingering adrenaline dampening the shock their bodies had suffered from the impact and reinventing itself as frenzied desire. They were alive, against all odds—God, they were _alive_.

Shiro shoved Keith down on the seat, running his hands up his belly and down his arms. “Fuck,” Shiro swore, again. “Keith, _Keith_ —”

“Need you,” Keith gasped. He was dripping wet, put Shiro’s human hand down the back of his track pants to prove it, and seconds later he was right where he wanted to be, pants yanked off the leg that wasn’t throbbing and knees pressed up to his clavicle as Shiro guided their bodies together, hands shaking with something just south of excitement. Pinned to the cushion, knees over Shiro’s elbows, Keith hung onto his biceps for dear life, head knocking against the door handle as Shiro fucked into him rough and powerful and staccato. “Yes,” he moaned, Shiro’s thrusts chopping his words into hiccups. “Yes, _yes_ , Shi-iro, _gi-ive_ it to me—”

“What the fuck are we doing,” Shiro panted, hot in his ear. “Fucking like animals when we should be—should be getting the hell out of here-?”

“We’re doing whatever the hell we _want_ ,” Keith hissed, egging him on with his ankles at his back, pulling him in first at tempo, then ragged, faster and faster. “Whatever the fuck we want, ‘cause they aren’t gonna take you from me, not—today, not—God, Shiro—”

It was Shiro’s turn to moan, loud in the relative silence of the rocking cab, flesh slapping against flesh, and Keith watched his eyelids flutter shut as the volatile energy surrounding them reached its zenith. Their mouths met, finally, and Keith let go of Shiro to stroke himself with one hand. Shiro brushed the fingers away to wrap his own hand around the dribbling length, pulling him toward climax swift but sloppy.

“You are so sexy,” Shiro gasped between kisses. “I’m close—”

“Shiro,” slurred Keith, against Shiro’s tongue, lips. “Shiro, wanna make you—”

He bore down, and Shiro peaked—Keith felt him peak—the throb of the cock inside him and the sudden _wetness_ , every thrust much more slick. He tumbled after with one last well-placed piston of Shiro’s hips, chasing Shiro into sightless oblivion and marvelling at the stars that exploded at the edges of the void. Shiro was staring at him when he floated back to reality, breathing deep and fast. Keith smiled lethargically. “What?”

Shiro let his breath out in a loud puff. “Nothing, I’m just.” He shifted his weight forward to press his lips to Keith’s temple, squeezing affectionately at the thigh of his clothed leg. “I’m just so sweet on you. So gone on you.”

“Why?” Keith ruffled his hair and let his legs fall out of Shiro’s grip. Shiro didn’t bother trying to pull out, they would be locked together for some time; Keith’s body squeezing everything it could from his with assertive undulations, small waves that Shiro insisted felt good. Keith pinched his cheek, tugged playfully. “Because I let you rail me in the back of your totalled car? I think we’re lucky it hasn’t exploded.”

“Hovercars haven’t exploded on impact since the seventies,” Shiro contested with a wry smile. “Structural shock absorption technology took care of that. Don’t believe everything you see in action movies.” Keith rolled his eyes and Shiro kissed him, more passionately than he’d expected. Strong arms wormed beneath him and Shiro lifted them backward until Keith was sitting on his lap. It was too much pressure on his injury and Shiro started at the sound Keith made, sucking air between his teeth in a shrill whistle. “What—what’s wrong?”

“My shin,” Keith grunted. Shiro maneuvered them until the offending leg was straight, then rolled the pant leg down to the ankle. The skin was blotched purple and red. “I think it’s broken.”

“Oh, baby,” Shiro said, synthetic fingers hovering over the bruise.

Keith chuckled a little. “‘No one will harm you,’ huh? Guess car crashes don’t count.”

“I should have been more specific,” Shiro lamented. Keith got the sense that he was chastising himself and put his arms around Shiro’s neck.

“Hey. You’ve got little stars in your eyes, you know?” He blew the raven hair from his vision to peer at Shiro in wonder. “Tiny lights burning bright. Did you know that?”

The eyes in question sparkled and Keith was hoping Shiro would say something romantic. Then he opened his mouth. “Well, according to black body physics—”

“Great,” Keith groaned. “There it goes. The moment. It’s gone.”

“What? You don’t like my factoids?” Shiro’s mouth twisted. “There’s still so much I haven’t taught you, you know.”

“Allura’s gone, Shiro.” Keith staunchly looked down, at the point where their bodies were still joined. “I’d rather just make the most of my time with you. There’s nothing left for me to learn, not if it’s not about you.” Shiro didn’t respond, but when Keith looked back up the placement of his eyebrows bespoke something unsaid.

“All right.” He turned his gaze away from Keith at last, and out the window to the forest beyond. “Let me  get you out of this car.”

 

Keith’s leg was broken. Not a bad break, not one that needed to be set, but he wouldn’t be walking for some time. You would think that a problem, given their current predicament, but Shiro wasn’t concerned.

“You wear the backpack,” he said, once they were both changed, “and I’ll wear you.” And so they were off, Keith’s legs dangling uselessly as Shiro toted him on his back, trudging through the night. His footfalls were muffled by the bed of pine needles blanketing the earth. The bristles of Shiro’s five o’clock shadow grazed Keith’s smooth cheek as he walked; a constant reminder that he grew hair in most places Keith didn’t, and also that Keith had, in his haste, neglected to pack the electric shaver.

He’d also forgotten to save Shiro’s memory box, with the video diary, and mementos from his mother. For which he apologized, profusely. Shiro brushed him off in stride. It’s all right, he said, gesturing to his head. Everything worth saving was right up here. And everything else worth saving?

“On my back right now,” Shiro declared.

Keith loved him.

After a few hours and multiple breaks they were nearly down the slope of the mountain, in view of a little group of municipalities that lay at its base. “Shiro,” Keith said, as they navigated a sea of tree roots. “Tell me another one-sentence story.”

“I’m fresh out, baby boy.” Baby boy.

Keith _loved_ him.

“You can think of something. It doesn’t have to be true.”

Shiro snorted. “Are you bored?”

“Maybe a little.”

He thought, for a moment. “You want to play Twenty Questions?”

Keith considered it. “What’s the game?”

“I think of something, and you have twenty questions to figure out what it is.”

“But then I have to concentrate on whatever it is that you thought up,” complained Keith, as his ankles bumped Shiro’s hips. “That’s too much effort. I just want to concentrate on _you_.”

“We could switch,” Shiro offered, flushing. “Or we could just play at asking questions, take turns answering.”

“Okay.” Keith let Shiro readjust his weight a bit. “You go first. Ask me something you always wanted to ask.” Shiro was quiet for a while.

“What was your name?” He broke their silence without preamble. “Your last name, before it was Doe. What was it?”

Keith admired the canopy above them, all needles and leaves. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t remember,” Keith clarified, kicking his uninjured foot. “It was always just me and my dad, so maybe I didn’t know at all, but. When the people who found me asked my name, I could only tell them my first name, so when I got to the orphanage, Doe it was.”

“That’s kind of fucked,” Shiro said to no one in particular, leaves crunching under his shoes.

“Maybe,” reserved Keith. Crunch. “Happens more often than you’d think.” Crunch. “The ring you always wear. Did you buy it yourself, or was it a gift?”

“This old thing?” Shiro asked. “It was my grandfather’s. My mother gave it to me when I moved out of the house. I think she was really feeling the empty nest and wanted to give me something so she stayed on my mind, you know? It also might have been a bit of jealousy, since I was leaving to move in with the girl I was seeing at the—oh.”

“No, it’s okay,” Keith injected quickly. “I don’t want there to be things we can’t talk about.”

“All right.” Shiro smiled against his cheek. “Was I your first kiss?”

Keith pulled at Shiro’s earlobe with his lips. “Jealous, are we?”

“Envious is the better word.”

“Well,” Keith fudged. “I wouldn’t call it a _real_ kiss.” Shiro eyed him. “It was my second race. This guy came up to me while Hunk was checking the car over, right? Said he’d give me a hundred credits, cash, for a kiss. I needed the money so I said all right, but no tongue.”

“If I’d known you were that easy I’d have gone that route from the start,” Shiro teased.

“Shut up.”

Shiro pressed him with a grin. “So, what happened? Was it a clean deal?”

“No,” Keith complained. “Fucker shoved himself right in my mouth, so I bit off what I could and spat it on the ground. Then I took all his cash while he was bleeding trying to pick it up.”

“That’s my baby,” Shiro said admiringly. He fell quiet after that and Keith found himself occupied with the sounds of the forest; the rustle of foliage as the wind moved between the juniper trees. Crunch. The occasional buzz of a honeybee. Crunch. The _peep_ , _peep_ of a wild turkey nest, full of noisy, hungry chicks.

“Shiro,” Keith said. “Do you want kids?” He felt Shiro’s ribs expand before he stifled the sigh.

“Mom would have wanted grandkids,” he grimaced. “But it’s too late for me now.”

“There’s always adoption.” Keith supplied a solution in his confusion. “Or engineering, I’m sure they do it off-planet—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Shiro interrupted, and said nothing more.

It wasn’t that Keith particularly desired children, or even gave credence to the notion of _children with Shiro_. If he had thought such a thing a possibility, one with opportunity to become actuality, he may have found himself much more terrified than he stood facing the idea now.

Yes. Shiro was all of seven years older, more mature, and Keith was still a precocious boy at his core, a boy that didn’t understand himself well, body or mind. But Keith was more than grown enough to understand the significance of a child, what children were to their parents and what a _child_ represented. And if he could understand that, then maybe he could understand Shiro when he said that he _couldn’t_ , when maybe he was referring to something undeserved, or maybe something inherent lost.

“Shiro,” Keith mumbled. “What happened to your baby?” Crunch.

“I don’t have a baby,” Shiro stated, and each word was like a steel door slammed shut.

Keith shut his eyes and forced his arms tighter around Shiro’s throat, throwing open the proverbial faucet of his dark magic and plunging Shiro in to drown. Shiro stopped walking after a minute of this and Keith opened his eyes. There were tears on Shiro’s cheeks.

“I should drop you,” he choked out. But he wouldn’t. Yet. “You abuse your power. You abuse _me_.”

“Don’t hide things from me,” was all Keith had to say for himself. The base of the mountain was drawing near, and a town along with it. Shiro would likely be leaving him alone in a safe location to root out supplies and transportation. Keith wouldn’t have him dodging his questions before he did.

This crushing possessiveness didn’t derive from his human side, he knew. His human side was repelled by this; it wasn’t a byproduct of love. There were _still_ things Shiro wouldn’t tell him, wouldn’t trust him with, perhaps, and the Galra part of him had _had it._ He wouldn’t rest until it was settled. How could he?

...He was disgusting.

“Shiro,” Keith pleaded, for his own sake. Shiro’s tears continued. “You have to tell me.” Shiro sniffed and resumed their trek, leaning neither into nor away from the kiss Keith pressed to his neck. Clearly it had fallen short of soothing.

“The baby died,” he sighed, stumbling a little. “I’m not sure when. We found out a couple months before the due date.” Keith had suspected as much. He now had confirmation, though: there was no one to compete with, no one else with claim to Shiro’s love. His alien instincts _liked_ that, rejoiced at the confession. His human heart felt like shit.

“I’m sorry.”

“I could have taken it better,” Shiro continued, ignoring him. “We didn’t have a name picked out. Don’t bother asking. You know what?”

“Please don’t put me down,” Keith whispered, as they grew nearer and nearer to the boundary of the trees. “Please.” But Shiro was already loosening his grip on Keith’s thighs, and Keith was met with the decision to either hold on and strangle Shiro, or let go and fall. He chose the latter, crumpling to the ground in a disgraceful heap. “No-!” Shiro marched away, hands plastered to either side of his head.

Both halves of Keith were there in his wail as he cried out, both with his voice and the language of the chemicals that leached from his skin. “Shiro! _Come back!”_ Shiro stiffened as he walked and Keith repeated the command, more shrill this time, and with greater fear. “ _Come back!”_

Shiro’s silhouette faded into the early morning light.

 

...He was back an hour or two later, expecting Keith in the spot he’d left him, and panicking when he found him gone. “ _Keith!”_

There were only drag marks where Keith had been. Shiro followed the skids with frazzled steps until he found him—Keith—tucked between a fallen log and a diminutive rock face where he’d concealed himself.

Shiro fell to his knees and made to hug him. Keith wouldn’t come. “Keith—”

Keith shook his head. “No.”

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

“There’s nothing to say,” Keith informed him. “You don’t want me. You left.”

“Keith,” Shiro scolded. “If I didn’t want you then I wouldn’t have come back, right?”

“Then why did you leave?!” Keith turned on him. “You aren’t supposed to leave!”

“I didn’t leave. I walked away,” Shiro said, highlighting some invisible distinction. “I walked away to avoid a fight. I just needed some time.” Keith pressed his lips into a firm line. “Obviously I still love you.”

“I wouldn’t love me,” Keith muttered, as Shiro reached for him again.

“Well I do. In spite of you.” Shiro smiled as Keith allowed himself to be held. “In spite of your difficult moments.”

Keith curled into his embrace and hesitantly met his eyes, though it was hard enough to keep the contact. “...You’ll forgive me?”

“I already have,” Shiro said. “It’s easier when you’re not there in front of me.” The real reason he’d left. Shiro was too good for him. Painfully so.

Keith bowed his head, demure. “...I missed you.” Shiro leaned down and, when it was clear he had permission, pulled Keith into a chaste kiss. Comforted, Keith hardly noticed Shiro lift him like a bride, carrying him closer toward the town. “...Where are we going?”

“There’s a pharmacy on the outskirts of the little town there,” Shiro explained. “They should have a brace for your leg, something that’ll allow you to walk.” They travelled in silence until they reached a road at the foot of the mountain, close to the pharmacy Shiro had mentioned but far enough away for Keith to be safely hidden. Keith clung to him as he was placed down in a patch of dappled light behind a wide old tree.

“I wasn’t hiding that, you know,” inserted Shiro, removing Keith’s backpack. “I just...it’s not my favorite memory. Certain types of grief…” He shook his head when words wouldn’t come. “Grief is...forever.”

“It felt like you were hiding it,” Keith said honestly. “I couldn’t handle it. If you...had someone else you cared about, I mean. I’m sorry I made you talk about it. It was wrong.”

“But why does it matter?” Shiro solicited, searching Keith’s face. “Even if I had eight kids, was twice divorced, it shouldn’t—”

“It shouldn’t but it does,” Keith cut in, apologetic. “It always will. I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to share you at all.” Shiro put down the pack and held Keith’s face in his hands.

“Well,” he demurred, after a soft kiss, full of promise. “You’ll never have to.” Keith enjoyed the feel of Shiro’s lips a bit longer before posing the question he wished he didn’t have to ask.

“ _Is_ there something you’re hiding?” Keith kept his voice low, unaccusing. “I don’t like it when we fight, Shiro, if there’s something else just say it now. You can tell me anything, I won’t get mad. I promise.”

Shiro pulled away, but not so far that he let go of Keith’s cheeks. “Keith,” he confronted. “Is this about what just happened, or is this about Pidge?”

Keith couldn’t lie. “Both.” Shiro exhaled, long and slow, then drew their bodies flush. Keith’s breath stuttered as Shiro pulled him close in the warm morning air.

“I don’t like it when we fight either,” said Shiro, carding fingers through Keith’s hair. “We never have to fight again. But you have to do your part, honey. It can’t just be mine.”

“I will,” Keith mumbled, against Shiro’s skin. He smelled like pine needles and earth, and Keith wanted to be better for him. Wanted to deserve him. Shiro’s pulse was steady and warm. “I can control it. I promise.” Shiro arranged him against the tree like a porcelain doll.

“Wait here.” He waited for Keith’s nod and, with a rustle, was off down the slope toward the narrow road, and the pharmacy’s entrance with it.

Only then did Keith realize that Shiro had never answered his question, as Shiro turned to acknowledge him just before entering the little shop.

Only then did Keith realize Shiro had tucked one of the blasters from the backpack into the waistband of his pants.

Shiro emerged from the store half an hour later with a shopping bag and a stride casual enough to look both ways before jogging across the road.

“Give me your leg,” he directed, setting the bag down on the ground and removing from its contents an asymmetrical box. A brace. The shock-absorbing kind.

Keith straightened his knee and Shiro set to work clamping it on. He rolled his wrists, kept it nonchalant. “Were there any other customers?”

“A couple,” Shiro replied.

“How much was in the register?”

He sighed. “Not enough.”

Keith took a look inside the bag while Shiro double-checked the fit and found a couple energy bars, in addition to a packet of black surgical-style pollen masks. Those were the so-called essentials. As for the minutia—

He held up a pack of flavored cigarettes. “Really?”

“There’s beer in there too,” Shiro said, taking the box and opening it. Keith watched him pull one, light it with his robotic hand. Shiro offered a drag and Keith accepted, not one to turn down a high. He smiled as the mild buzz hit his brain. The slim tasted like cherry.

He’d only quit synthetic drugs and rode the waves of withdrawal because of Lance. Lance, who’d seen the writing on the wall and learned how to push his buttons, who’d insinuated that Keith didn’t quit because he _couldn’t_ quit and knew without question that he’d take him up on the challenge. Keith wouldn’t have stopped otherwise, would have died chasing that high, _any_ high, be it drugs or racing or shoddy two-man robbery. He wouldn’t have minded death, honestly. Not if he got what he wanted before he went kaput. Keith’s goals used to be that short-sighted.

He thought he’d miss it. Not a chance. Shiro was his own constant kind of high.

 _Fuck me_ , Keith thought, eyeing Shiro’s strong hands as he pulled on the cigarette. _Here, on the dirt, next to the road, in plain fucking daylight next to a building full of people you know I know you just killed. Come on._

_Fuck me again._

Shiro only beamed at him and pulled something from his pocket, holding it up to the light with a metallic glint. Oh. Well that might just be better than sex.

Shiro had keys to a hovercar.

*

The keys belonged to the pharmacist’s ugly brown sedan. And although at first Keith expressed mild disappointment at Shiro’s failure to score a faster, flashier car, reality soon came crashing in—the plainer the car, the better, and the less responsive the accel, the easier; for who would be looking for two outlaws in a vehicle that looked and drove as if it were escorting Miss Daisy?

They travelled for two days in that car, at high altitude so as not to catch the eye of anyone on the ground and switching drivers every few hours.

Of course, the beer and the food ran out on the third day. And so Shiro said it was time to ditch the car, find a settlement, and a new vehicle with it.

In this way they found themselves in a dusty little town close to the border, one so small Shiro guessed the shops wouldn’t have wasted the money to install ID scanners. As usual, he was right. Keith was glad for it; he was eager for a rest after the long walk into town, having left the car behind; and he couldn’t deny he was in want of some better sustenance than dry crackers and chalky energy bars. As luck would have it, there was a restaurant just next to the supermarket, and the checkout girl informed Shiro quite enthusiastically that it served incredible pho.

Their ankles knocked together under the tiny table. Shiro hadn’t once looked at the electronic menu, loving gaze stuck on Keith’s face instead. “Have you decided, kitten?”

“Yeah.” Keith considered him. “...Have you?”

“No.”

Keith grinned. “Shiro, there’s only three options.” The two kitchen workers, a man and a woman, peeked at them from a little alcove in the wall, just above the stove. It was three o’clock, and they were the only customers.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Shiro said at last, ignoring the proffered menu. Keith shrugged and put the order in. Shiro’s ankle travelled up his leg. “The cook is looking at you.”

“What?”

“The cook. In the kitchen.” Shiro placed his foot flat on the ground. “He likes you.” Keith looked over through the small window and made eye contact with the male employee, a young, birdlike man who immediately ducked out of sight. Shiro chuckled as the woman suppressed an eyeroll. “See?”

“He’s just shy,” Keith muttered, as the woman—waitress, he supposed—arrived at their table with two glasses of water. “You’re off your rocker.”

“I am not.”

“And even if you weren’t,” continued Keith after a hasty sip, “shouldn’t that upset you?”

“Of course not,” Shiro said, leaning back in his chair with carefree ease. “Sure, we’re in the country now. Nobody knows you’re an alien. I know what you look like, I know I might have competition. But it doesn’t bother me.”

Keith eyed him suspiciously. “Why not?”

Shiro smiled and pulled from his pocket the unfinished pack of cigarettes. “Because I know you’re mine.” Keith flushed red just as the waitress came scurrying back over.

“Sorry sir,” she apologized, before Shiro could light the cig. “But there’s no smoking in this establishment.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

“Anyway,” Keith edged in, glaring at the woman when she idled a little too long at Shiro’s side. She excused herself immediately and Shiro covered his mouth to muffle a laugh. Keith lowered his voice and leaned toward him over the table. “Anyway. We’re going to need money after this.”

Shiro sobered quickly, picking up his water glass and leaving a ring of condensation in its place. “Look over my shoulder.” Keith raised his line of sight and landed on a pawn shop catercorner to their restaurant, across the street. “Would that work?”

“I reckon it would,” Keith said, touching the backpack under his chair with his heel. “But those pawn shops usually have cameras behind the counter, you know. For these exact purposes.”

“Cameras,” Shiro scoffed. “Who doesn’t have them? We have masks, that’s enough to circumvent the facial scanners. You didn’t take them out of the bag, did you?”

“No—” Keith’s words left him as their food arrived. Shiro’s lips rolled flat with mirth: where his soup sported a simple, ornamental squirt of sriracha sauce, Keith’s was emblazoned with an enormous red heart. The waitress gestured wordlessly to the kitchen; the cook was back in view, nervously wringing his hands. He waved shyly. Keith, after internal debate, gave a little wave back.

“Wow,” Shiro commented to the waitress with a wink. “Now that’s what I call service.”

“Excuse me,” Keith demanded as she giggled away. “Are you flirting with the staff? I want a divorce.”

“Why,” Shiro asked, staving off hysterics. “So you can run off with the cook?”

“I—What am I supposed to do with this?” Keith looked meaningfully at his soup. “Can I eat it? If I eat it, what does that mean?”

“You’ve really never been hit on,” Shiro mused in wonder.

“Only by creeps,” Keith revised. “And you, I guess, but you also were kind of a creep about it.” Shiro flipped him the bird.

“Eat your food,” he advised, when Keith’s laughter subsided. “It doesn’t mean anything. Though I might have to intervene if he comes out to ask you on a date.”

“He won’t,” Keith said.

He did.

“Sorry,” the man stammered, sweating behind the register. “I don’t usually do this, but—wow, I mean you’re really—and I thought maybe I would just—that maybe we could—”

His number was on the back of the receipt.

Shiro leaned down to whisper in Keith’s ear. “Now I have to kill him.”

“S-Sorry,” Keith replied in a hurry, unsure whether or not Shiro was joking. “We’re here on honeymoon.”

The cook blinked at him eagerly. “Would you date me if you weren’t?”

“All right, that’s enough,” Shiro decided, going for the blaster concealed in Keith’s backpack. Keith shoved him out the door. “Keith. Keith, I can’t just let him disrespect me like that. _Keith_.”

“Hurry up,” Keith said, lopsidedly dragging him across the street and into the alley behind the pawn shop. He released Shiro once they were out of sight and flipped the backpack to his front, extracting the black masks from its bowels and offering one to Shiro. Shiro made no move to take it. “Shiro!”

“So we’re here on honeymoon, huh?” The smirk Shiro was wearing was downright predatory. Keith shot him a Look.

“You are such a _man_ ,” he derided, slapping the mask to Shiro’s contoured chest and tossing him a gun. “Acting like we aren’t practically married already.” Shiro hooked the mask over his ears, but left it tucked under his chin.

“Give me a kiss.” Keith narrowed his eyes over the rim of his own mask. Shiro smiled innocently. This wasn’t fair.

“Just one,” Keith said in warning, and let Shiro sweep him off his feet.

“You have no _idea_ what you do to me,” Shiro maintained once their lips parted, palms roaming Keith’s back and ass. “No goddamn idea.”

Keith was hiking his unbraced thigh up over Shiro’s hips before he knew what he was doing, pressing himself up against the front of Shiro’s pants and the bulge under the zipper where Shiro was already half-hard. “I think I have a pretty good idea, actually.”

Shiro ground them together lazily. “You ready, sugar?”

“Ready.” Shiro let him go, shot out the lock on the backdoor of the pawn shop, and they were inside.

The owner of the shop was understandably less than thrilled to see them. “What on _Terra_ —” Keith shot out the cameras pointed at the door and counter before training the barrel on her.

“THE MONEY OR YOUR LIFE,” Shiro bellowed through the mask. Keith seamlessly followed his lead.

“WHERE’S THE SAFE!” The alien hesitated, pink tentacles waving. “WHERE’S THE FUCKING SAFE!”

“I-It’s under the counter,” she rasped, backing toward the far wall where there hung a row of cabinets. Shiro moved forward as she retreated, turning his head to check below the register and activating his robotic hand to bore through the safe’s reinforced door. Keith stood vigil between the two of them, watching Shiro work. He’d fallen into distraction when a sudden movement caught his eye. The alien had a blaster of her own.

“Don’t you fucking do it,” Keith warned, but there was fear in his voice. His weakness was obvious. She raised the gun as Shiro turned around. Pointed it at Shiro. _His_ Shiro.

Keith pulled the trigger before she had a chance to steady her aim.

“Keith,” Shiro said in surprise. Keith walked over to the gurgling alien and put a hole in her head to match the one in her chest.

“Bitch,” he spat.

Shiro pried off the door of the safe and tossed it on the ground. “...Sorry.”

“For what?” Keith wanted to know. “You would have shot her anyway, once you knew the safe wasn’t empty.” Shiro shrugged.

“Then it would have been me that killed her,” he said. “Not you. Pass the bag, baby.” Keith obliged him at once, holding the front pockets of the bag open for Shiro to fill them with rolls of cash. Good. This was more than enough to last them a few months.

“I’m not helpless,” Keith pointed out, closing the zipper. “I can handle myself.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Shiro returned. “All I want is to keep you safe. Regardless of how it hurts me. It’s better me than you. Always.” He stood to his full height, towering over Keith before he had time to fit in a reply. “Let’s get out of here before someone comes walking in.” Keith had no choice but to stew on that until they found their ride, a navy blue two-door parked just far enough from the storefronts for them to bust in a window and for Keith to hotwire the car.

He held his tongue until they were at a suitable altitude, cruising south a hair under the speed limit. “I feel the same way, you know.” Shiro gave him a questioning look. “About you. I don’t want you to get hurt, either, Shiro, I’d do anything if it meant you were safe. I know that feeling’s why you don’t leave any witnesses.” Keith put a hand on Shiro’s knee. “I know you wouldn’t do it if it weren’t for me. That’s just who you are. You’re not a cruel man, but you do it anyway. For me. And I can’t deny I think it’s one of the reasons I love you.”

 “You _think_?” The corner of Shiro’s mouth twitched and Keith stretched over to kiss it.

“So where are you taking me?” Keith settled back into the passenger seat and rolled the window down, letting the wind course through his hair. Shiro’s hair blew back, too. His fade was growing out. “Where are we going next?”

“I told you I’d take you south when the weather warmed up,” Shiro replied, raising his robotic hand for Keith to hold in his own. “Well, the weather’s warm, so that’s where we’re going. South.” He bit his lip, but a smile split his face nonetheless. God.

Keith _loved_ him.

“We’re going to the ocean.”

*

The ocean was so much bigger and bluer than Keith had pictured.

Well, of course it was. It was the difference between seeing the Grand Canyon in a picture versus seeing it in person; the real thing was so large as to defy imagination. Still, Keith marvelled. There were things even larger still—the moon, the Earth as seen from space. Their solar system as seen from the Milky Way. The galaxy hiding in the depths of Shiro’s eyes.

Shiro put the car in the water and held his hand as they watched it sink. They were past the border now, little that it mattered. The Alliance had complete jurisdiction. But should they have been spotted, should a stray print show up at a crime scene or one of the witnesses have survived, it was beneficial to be in a territory with which local police didn’t actively communicate.

They walked along the shore for a day or two, sleeping under rocky outcroppings and resisting the urge to peel off their outerwear lest they get burned by the sun. The fruit from the supermarket was just this side of overripe when they passed a tiny village, and just a click past that—

“Shiro,” Keith said, tugging on his hand. Shiro turned from the cactus he was admiring and followed Keith’s line of sight to a blurry speck on the horizon. There was a little shack there, sitting on the sandy dunes of the beach. Keith knew as soon as they set foot inside that it was holy ground, where nothing could touch them. Shiro made one sweep of the place before he was carrying Keith off to the bedroom. They were safe, he said.

They were _safe_.

All there was to do now was lay low in the little slice of heaven they’d found for themselves. Lay low and wait.

What they were waiting for, Keith couldn’t say he knew.

 

“Shiro,” called Keith, raising his voice just high enough to be heard above the spray of the shower. “Are we out of milk?”

“We might be,” Shiro answered from the bathroom. “Why? What are you making?”

“I was going to make hotcakes,” Keith complained as the water shut off. Shiro laughed.

“Ambitious considering what we did to the last batch.”

“What _you_ did to the last batch,” Keith corrected, putting the pancake mix down in favor of a broom to sweep the sand off the floor. “I told you to turn down the fire.”

Two and a half months had passed and it had turned out to be quiet, living on the beach. Just how Keith liked it. They had everything they needed—water siphoned from a nearby well, a generator for electricity, and the local market an hour’s walk away for food and new clothes, the latter rapidly becoming a necessity as the fist of summer closed over the region. Unfortunately, there was no air conditioning in the shack, but Shiro found a couple working fans while they were clearing out the dust. The ocean was there in the daytime and even if it was too hot to make a blanket-nest, the crossbreeze was cool enough to sleep together at night, so Keith couldn’t complain. He might have liked a new saucepan, though. The old one under the sink was getting a bit rusty.

They’d have to check for one on their next trip to market.

Shiro emerged from the bathroom clean-shaven, hair freshly cut. Keith felt his own ponytail tickle the sweaty nape of his neck and briefly considered a haircut. No, not really an option. Shiro liked it long, after all. He’d said as much when he’d removed the brace from Keith’s leg.

Lance and Hunk would find that amusing. Pidge would find it _hilarious_.

Keith sighed. No point thinking about that now. Much better to think about the plain white towel wrapped around Shiro’s hips. Yep. _Nice_.

“I can cook something if you want,” Shiro tossed out, carrying his clothes into the bedroom in the direction of the hamper. Keith put the broom down and followed him, leaving the flour on the countertop. Shiro smiled when he saw Keith behind him. “Is that a yes?”

“Yeah,” Keith said, closing in. Shiro put an arm around him as he reached into the dresser for a change of clothes. “Make me something.”

Shiro pulled out a rash vest, decided against it. “I could do an omelette. Or, if you aren’t set on breakfast food, we still have that meat in the freezer from our last shopping trip.” He chose a plain T-shirt, finally,  placing it atop the dresser and facing Keith with a blinding smile. “Or I could cut up some fruit and we could walk down to the cliffs, do some swimming, catch some fish. Any requests?” Keith grasped his wrist before he could open the underwear drawer.

“Maybe one.”

Shiro’s eyes grew lidded as Keith pulled his shirt out of his shorts and slid his palm underneath, spreading his fingers over the skin and curling them over the contours of his abdomen. He pushed up higher and Keith returned the sentiment, running hands up Shiro’s front and pinching at his nipples. Shiro chased after Keith’s mouth, but he stepped away, pulling his shirt up over his head and unbuttoning his shorts. Shiro’s chest rose rapidly as those shorts hit the floor.

“Want me?” Keith asked, softly. Shiro nodded and he came close again, unfastening the towel around Shiro’s waist. “I want you.” Shiro pressed their bellies together and Keith dropped the towel, guiding him backward until they fell onto the bed.

It was easy to fall together, as it always was; Shiro kicked the flat sheet away and pulled Keith over him, tongue slipping shallow into his mouth as their erections bumped together. Keith pushed Shiro’s thighs apart with a knee and used the newfound leverage to rut against him, wrapping his arms around Shiro’s back and kissing down the line of his neck. Shiro matched every movement of his hips until Keith brought his mouth lower, shimmying down between Shiro’s knees and taking his length in hand. He stroked one time, two, then took as much of Shiro’s pulsing heat into his mouth as he could, pushing the rest through the tight circle of his fingers as he bobbed up and down. Shiro’s mouth fell open as his head dropped back. All his practice had worked; Keith had gotten a lot better at this.

“That’s good, baby,” Shiro praised the ceiling, working a hand into Keith’s ponytail. “That’s _so_ good.” Keith hummed around him, swirling his tongue around the head and lowering himself until Shiro bumped the soft wall of his throat. Shiro moaned appreciatively. “Keith—”

“Did I tell you how I used to touch myself to you?” Keith tongued Shiro’s slit, relishing the hungry way he was being watched. “Just the thought of you and I’d come. Did you know?” Shiro shook his head, hands fisting in the sheet. Keith grinned at him. “Did you ever-? To me?”

“That’s for me to know and you to never find out,” Shiro replied, too smoothly for Keith’s liking. He delved back down and savored the resulting flex of Shiro’s hips. “ _Mm_.”

“That’s okay,” Keith said, coming back up for air and pressing open kisses to Shiro’s wet cock. “You don’t have to tell me. I walked in on you having private time in the bathroom last week. I know you do it now.”

“What do you want me to say? You’re hot,” Shiro said, matter-of-fact, enough so to make Keith _burn_. He lowered his mouth again to reward Shiro for that, sucking gentle and in little waves. Shiro shivered beneath him and gave his hair a tug. “Shit—up here, sweetheart.” Keith crawled up Shiro’s body and let himself be maneuvered until Shiro had him completely turned around. He shuddered. Shiro’s head lay on the pillow between his legs.

Shiro pulled the cheeks apart, craning his neck. Keith’s body jumped and Shiro yanked him down into a sitting position, laving Keith’s entrance with the flat of his tongue, teasing it open with the occasional flick.

“Shiro,” Keith breathed, grinding down heavily over Shiro’s nose and mouth. “Shiro, that’s—that’s nice—”

Shiro ran his hands down the inside of his thighs and Keith pitched forward to take him in hand. He swallowed Shiro again, savoring the moan beneath him, and sucked until it was too much to take, the taste of cock in his mouth and the feel of Shiro’s tongue at his ass, loosening him up lick after unbearable lick. Keith climbed off on wobbly knees and fell at Shiro’s face. Shiro caressed him slowly, wiping the slick from his chin with the back of his silver hand.

“No,” Keith murmured, after a minute of languid kissing, tasting himself on Shiro’s tongue. Shiro was trying to roll him over, get him on his back. “Let me do the work today. You always work so hard.”

“I like to work hard,” Shiro whispered, behind his ear.

“Let me,” Keith insisted gently, raising himself enough to push Shiro down against the pillows. “Let me make love to you.” Shiro stopped resisting at that and Keith reached behind himself for the slick that had gathered at the entrance to his sex. He wet his fingers and brought them around to Shiro’s length, lubing him liberally. Shiro’s knees fell slack as Keith mounted him.

“I love you,” Shiro sighed, meeting his eyes. Keith lined them up and grasped for Shiro’s hand, intertwining their fingers.

“I love you too,” he said, and sank down. Shiro arched into him immediately, hands flying to Keith’s hips. His thumbs dipped below the bone once he was fully seated, caressing Keith’s navel and sliding a broad hand up over his stomach.

“One more thing,” Shiro requested, and pulled Keith’s hair free of its band so it spilled down over his collar and shoulderblades.

Keith rode him gently at first, keeping their pace slow and tender. It proved difficult to keep to a romantic speed once passion had a hold of him, though, and Keith felt himself grinding down harder than he’d intended, faster than he had expected. He rolled his hips, hearing Shiro’s breaths come fast and rough, and Shiro’s hands were on him again, dragging him down harder with natural urgency, meeting him thrust for thrust. He was angled just the right way, brushing Keith just right with every stroke. Heat coiled behind his navel. _Mm_.

“Go on baby,” Shiro moaned. “Go on. Take what you need from me.” Keith put his hands behind him, then, bracing himself on Shiro’s thighs, and used his weight to fuck himself, keening as he bounced up and down. Shiro sat up against the pillows, cock pulsing inside him, and rucked his hips up with each wave, just the way he’d learned Keith liked it. “Keith,” he panted, taking a handful of Keith’s long hair. “Keith—” His fingertips found their way to Keith’s lips and Keith opened his mouth, guided them inside, sucked each finger one by one. Shiro’s eyes were dark as night—the last thing Keith saw before he felt Shiro crest inside him and lost vision, blinded by waves of pleasure and the warm and creamy comfort of Shiro’s release.

Keith fell flat forward once he was spent and enjoyed a rush of post-climax, full-of-cock satisfaction as Shiro’s arms closed around him protectively, pushing their bodies together in the last dregs of their orgasm with movements gentle as rain. Keith was too boneless to help. “Mm. Shiro.” They did this often, but simultaneously not often enough.

“That was nice,” Shiro hummed, holding him tight. Keith’s eyes slid closed for a while. When they opened again, it was to the sight of Shiro’s white hair, tousled by the breeze of the standing fan. In the months they had lived there, the patch had since reached the crown of his head.

“This,” Keith mouthed, finding it hard to form words. He pushed Shiro’s forelock to the side and kissed his forehead. “This, is...is it genetic?”

Shiro smiled ruefully. “Kind of.” Keith looked down at their tangled legs.

“Your feet are huge, you know.” Shiro barked out a laugh and Keith grabbed his ears, pulling his face as close as it would come. “Where’d you get that from? Your dad?”

“Well my mother was a tiny Asian woman, so I would assume so,” Shiro replied, cheeks still peach-pink from exertion. Keith smirked.

“Is that where you got your size kink from? Freud would love that.”

“I thought we agreed not to joke about each other’s psychosexual development,” said Shiro, raising an eyebrow.

“Did we? I don’t recall.” Shiro kissed the scar on his right shoulder.

“You’re lucky I love you.” Keith giggled.

“Yeah. I am.”

The deadbolt clicked open in the front door.

Shiro had them up in an instant, bodies still locked together. Oh, God.

“Keith I have to pull out,” Shiro rushed, taking hold of his hips even as Keith begged him _no_. “I have to pull out, baby, I’m so sorry—” Keith screamed in agony as Shiro forced them apart. The second bolt slid open and Shiro was across the room, pulling his jeans from the hamper and dragging them on.

It was a well-to-do couple aged about thirty, and judging by the key in the man’s hand, they owned this place. A summer home. Shit. _Shit_.

“What is this?!” shouted the man, striding into the living room. Shiro matched him pace for pace, shielding the entrance to the bedroom with his body. Keith was still reeling on the bed. “Who are you people? And what the hell are you doing in our—”

“Do you want to live,” Shiro interrupted. The man was red as a beet; the woman, pale. Shiro repeated the question at full volume. “I said, DO YOU WANT TO LIVE?”

...Something was wrong.

“Honey—”

“Call the police,” the man ordered. She reached into her purse and promptly dropped her communicator under the weight of Shiro’s stare. Shiro took a step toward her and the man dove for the kitchen counter, grabbed a carving knife from the narrow rack. He made eye contact with Keith from behind Shiro’s wide shoulders, and Shiro’s form went deathly still.

That was it. It was over. Shiro didn’t need a weapon to kill someone, and kill them cleanly.

What Keith didn’t expect was the _sound_ that tore from Shiro’s throat.

It was human, at first; an ordinary war cry that morphed into a monstrous howl. It seemed to shake the very foundation, that sound, strangled by exertion as Shiro wrestled the man down against the counter, raining blows upon his head and locking his hand with the knife in a silver, synthetic grip. The flesh of that arm burned in Shiro’s right hand and the man yelled out: Shiro snarled loud and bore the wrist backward, breaking it—driving the knife that fell from his enemy’s grip deep into his chest. He screamed again, plunging the blade between the man’s ribs, into his neck, into his face. The woman was frozen in place, shrieking as blood ran down Shiro’s arms and chest like water. Something in Keith preened even as he stared in abject horror. _Yes. That’s my mate_.

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith shouted, throwing himself off the bed, feet twisting in the sheets and falling hard. Shiro had since abandoned the knife, beating the man’s face in with his bare hands. The corpse lolled back and forth with each strike, and its face, with its throat ripped out, was quickly resembling mince more than anything that used to be human. “Shiro, he’s dead! _He’s dead!_ ” Shiro dropped the body and it fell face-first to the wood floor with a wet splat. Keith desperately tried to disentangle himself as Shiro’s right arm glowed bright. He was looking at the woman who stood before him, terrified. She took off through the open front door and Shiro pursued her onto the dunes, leaving Keith alone in the house, shaking with dread.

Keith felt a warm trickle beneath him and looked down, expecting to see Shiro’s white release, but. Sticky red-violet veins ribbed the innermost part of his thighs. No. Not again. He choked down a cry.

Purple ooze ran down his legs as he staggered to the door in time to see Shiro finish his sprint across the dunes, catching the woman by the arm and whipping her down into a cloud of sand. His robotic arm strained at the seams as it twisted, ripped; the arm flew in a separate direction, staining the tawny sand red. Shiro threw his weight into each, neon blow, and Keith could swear he saw his stormy eyes shining gold in the harsh light of the yellow sun. This was not like him. This was not the Shiro Keith knew, this wasn’t—

Standing there in the entrance to a house that wasn’t theirs, Keith realized it just as a gust of sea air hit his nostrils: it was him.

It was _Keith_ —it was the love they’d been making, it was the bedding that reeked of him and the lingering taste of his sex; it was his own unwashed skin that he had enshrouded Shiro in and two weeks without leaving the nest-house filled with his scent. It was him, it was the stress, it was his own, dark perfume. It had driven Shiro mad.

 _You have to take care of me_ , Keith’s lizard brain mewled, glowing with feral pride. _You have to protect me. Don’t let them take me from you._

_Good boy._

Keith had promised to be better, promised to control his body—but what if his own body was beyond his control? What did that mean for them? What did that mean for _Shiro?_

He ran naked to him and wrenched him up from the woman’s body, her remaining arm lying at an unnatural angle and her chest like pulverized meat. Keith dragged Shiro with all his force to the limits of the ocean and shoved him into the cool water, forcing his head beneath the surface as the dark fluid was washed from his legs. The number tattooed on the back of Shiro’s neck winked as Shiro fought him. _117-9875_. Shiro flailed and Keith yanked him up to take in a lungful of fresh air before shoving him back down in an unholy baptism.

Again.

He led them deeper into the sea while Shiro was off-balance, scrubbing at the scent glands under his jaw and forearms as he was covered with saltwater. “ _Breathe_ ,” he commanded at Shiro’s next breath, saturating his voice with his glamour and repeated the process until the fight had leached out of Shiro’s muscles, body falling limp and obedient under his touch. Keith flipped Shiro over and let them float together in the shallows, holding Shiro’s soaked head to his bare chest as seawater streamed from his hair. The water around them was slowly permeated by a cloud of inky maroon as he bled into the water.

He surveyed their surroundings: the mutilated woman on the beach, the front door still standing wide open and the feet visible in the kitchen, flung out in a shallow pool of blood. Shiro was unconscious in his arms.

Keith knew it was time to make a decision, but the choice that was best for his love was the one that he could never make.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Shiro’s sleeping form, holding him tight as the purple blot surrounding them grew ever deeper. “I can’t leave you. I love you too much.” But they couldn’t remain this way, on the run. Keith didn’t know if Shiro could handle it. Which left one option.

Allura.

They could finish her work, Keith knew they could. Steal her final target and run away on her ship. It was a good plan. A solid plan. They could start as soon as this mess was cleaned up, these bodies were buried. Keith tugged them back to the beach and laid Shiro gently on the wet sand. His heart beat steady under Keith’s hand, the one splayed wide on his salty skin.

Keith placed a feather-light kiss to the crest of his cheek. “You’ll trust me, won’t you?”

Shiro was silent as the grave.

 

Keith prepared a lengthy case to convince Shiro of the merits of his plan. People would come looking for that couple; they had to leave the shack. Hunk would likely help, if they could get in contact. Allura deserved this. They had a responsibility to finish the mission. Keith smeared a generous amount of petroleum jelly over every one of his scent points before he began the conversation. He had no intentions of allowing his glamour, verbal or otherwise, to influence Shiro’s decisions—not today, not ever again.

As it would turn out, his worries that Shiro would protest his plan were all for naught. Shiro listened to his plea with the same melancholy expression he had been wearing for the past two days; since they had entombed the bodies in the sand and scrubbed the bloodstains from the wooden floor. Keith purposely neglected to mention that the darkest ones were in fact his.

“Shiro,” Keith prompted, when Shiro was silent a few moments too long. “What do you…?” Shiro ground the heels of his hands into his tired eyes and mumbled something that sounded eerily like _please, not yet._ Keith put a hand on his knee. “...Shiro?”

Shiro looked up and granted him a thin smile. “...Sure,” he said, placing his hand atop Keith’s. “Anything for you.” And so they began to gather their things, slowly this time, in preparation to leave yet another home; one that they had been in for so long and yet were leaving so soon.

Shiro appeared in front of him in the living room on the day they were meant to leave the safehouse, as Keith was on the couch smoothing petroleum jelly over each of his wrists. Keith patted the space next to him on the worn cushion, but Shiro opted not to sit.

“Are you tired of being a Doe?” Shiro’s voice was soft, but Keith still started at the question.

“I—”

“Wouldn’t you like a new name?” Shiro took his clean hand, stroking his thumb back and forth over the knuckles. Keith stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment as Shiro lowered himself down on one knee. His gunmetal ring was in the fingertips of his other hand. Shiro blinked a tear away, Adam’s apple bobbing, and for all the wild determination in his eyes, the one word that slipped from his mouth was a nervous, “Please.” Keith closed his eyes and Shiro repeated himself, despondent. “ _Please_.”

“Oh, Shiro,” Keith managed, covering his mouth and smearing his cheek with petroleum jelly. “No.”

“You’d make me so happy,” Shiro begged, extending his hand with the ring and pulling Keith’s closer to his heart. “It would be so easy. We could do it tomorrow. Be _mine_.”

“I’m already yours,” Keith supplicated. He squeezed Shiro’s metal fingers. “It’s...too soon, we’ve known each other less than a year, been together for…”

“You’re lying,” Shiro said, and it was true. They were already life partners; Keith had regretfully made sure of that. Marriage would change nothing. But Keith couldn’t look Shiro in the eyes and tell him the truth. He was scared. And it was Shiro who was scaring him, because it wasn’t like Shiro to push so hard for the things he wanted, and to do it so suddenly. Shiro knew something, he was scared too. It wasn’t the right way to make this kind of promise. Keith couldn’t say yes.

“It’s not a no,” he soothed, pulling Shiro onto the couch and wrapping his arms around his neck. “God, it’s not, it’s—just a not _now_ , Shiro. Let’s wait until all of... _this_ is over. Ask me again when you’re not just asking me because you’re afraid something bad is going to happen.” Shiro turned into the kiss Keith flattened against his cheek and Keith smiled. He was forgiven. “Ask me again, after you’ve finally told me what you’re hiding.”

“Then we’ll never marry,” Shiro murmured. He’d seen this, Keith realized. He’d known Keith would say no, but he asked anyway. Shiro pulled away and brushed the loose strands of Keith’s hand out of his face, angling his chin up for a penitent kiss. Keith whimpered into the crease of his lips, and Shiro spoke directly into his mouth. “Wear my ring.”

Keith tried, he did. “But I—”

“I know,” acknowledged Shiro, even as he slipped the ring onto Keith’s finger, two sizes too big. Shiro chuckled and moved it to his thumb, lifting the digit to his face for another kiss. “Just wear it, and think of me when you do. Please.”

“Okay,” Keith agreed, unable to deny him. “Okay.” Shiro nudged him onto his back and maneuvered between his legs to press their lips together again. Keith met him willingly, exposing his neck for Shiro when he lowered his face.

“I’m sorry I’m not good,” he said, half-muted by Keith’s heating skin. “That I’m not a good man anymore. I’m not who I was when you chose me. I wish I could go back.”

 _You are a good man_ , Keith wanted to say, but Shiro had a hand under his shirt then, one at first, then two. Keith reached for the hem of Shiro’s shirt with a mind to speed things up, but Shiro took hold of his wrist before he was able to get his fingers real purchase.

“Keith,” Shiro supplicated, without heed for their waiting bags nor the overhanging knowledge that they needed to _leave_. “Please, baby, go slow.”

Was that all he wanted? Keith had denied Shiro enough for one day. Had denied him enough for a lifetime.

He let Shiro make it last as long as he wanted, and at least for a little while, the world stopped turning. Or so it seemed.

Nightfall came and they were miles away.

*

Hunk opened the door in a striped pajama set and a yellow pair of lion-patterned slippers. Keith waved.

Hunk screamed.

“Get _inside_ ,” he hissed, hauling them in and looking up and down the darkened street before slamming the door. “It is the _middle of the night._ Did anyone see you?! Man, I thought you guys were—”

“Long gone? We were,” Shiro said, rubbing the spot on his arm where Hunk had left an enormous handprint. “Change of plans. We’ve still got one more job.”

“You mean those crystals she wanted?” Hunk’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “And you still want to _do it_? With only two people?”

Keith gave him a meaningful look. “Three people.”

“Three? Lance is gone, and I don’t know what you guys did but Pidge is pissed big time.” Keith continued to stare. Hunk blinked. “Oh, God. You mean me.”

“That would be why we’re here,” elucidated Shiro. Hunk ran a high-strung hand through his hair.

“Okay, but why do it in the first place?” he questioned, looking back and forth between the two of them. “I mean, how do you benefit? You can’t get paid. Allura’s kind of broke.”

“That’s not the aim,” Keith explained. “It’s in good faith. And if she takes us with her when we make the drop, then that’s even better.”

“You could just ask her to come get you,” Hunk tried. “We don’t have to do all—”

“You don’t understand,” Shiro began. “Doing the job benefits us as well. The last target is a set of alignment crystals used to make wormhole jumps. Without all of the components, she can’t jump, and without jumping—”

“—it’s a lot harder to get away from the Alliance, which will be after her too once she picks us up, if it isn’t already,” Keith finished. “This is the best option, Hunk. Will you help?”

Hunk crossed his arms. “...You know I always want to help,” he said, after a few moments. “But guys, I really don’t know about—”

“Don’t worry,” Keith heartened. “It’ll be fine. Right, Shiro?”

Shiro took his hand, clasping it between his own before turning back to Hunk with a small smile. “You have nothing to worry about.” Keith beamed. It was the beginning of the rest of their lives.

“Well, if Shiro says it’s fine…” Hunk rubbed at the back of his neck, then snapped his fingers. “Alright. We’re doing this. What’s the plan? Is there a plan? Please tell me you guys have a plan.”

“There is a plan,” Shiro said, releasing Keith to approach him. “I saw the blueprints of the holding facility when Allura and I were making a preliminary outline of what needed to be done. The outline is the same, but we’re down to three people, so we need to prioritize. What you need to do is similar to what you’ve always done—drive the car, drop us off, wait in a safe location until it’s time to pick us up. Our entrance is on the roof, so as close as you can get to that without being detected is best.”

“Shiro and I will go in through the A/C exhaust vent and travel to the west wing conference room,” Keith continued. “It’s the closest we can get to the security chamber where the crystals are held. Once we’re there we need you to have disabled both the lock on the chamber door and the motion sensors inside the room before we can break into the safe. Can you do that? I know it’s usually something Pidge would do, but—”

“I can do it,” Hunk said, pursing his lips. “It might take a bit more prep work, but I can do it. Then you’ll contact me when you’re on the way back to the roof, right? How do we stay in contact? We don’t have the helmets anymore, what’s the contingency plan for that?”

“We’ll just have to use ordinary comms,” Shiro replied. “Can you buy another one tomorrow? I’ll sync the contact lists while you’re in the garage.”

“I dunno,” Hunk mused. “Another line on my plan? That sounds kind of expensi—” Keith handed him a roll of cash. “—o-oh. Wait, where did you get this? Actually? Nevermind, I don’t want to know.” He scratched his head. “It sounds solid, I guess. Stealthy, in and out, you know. The usual. Can’t say I have any complaints.”

“There’s...one more thing.” Shiro was holding down a wince. “The safe we need to get into...It’s too thick for me to solder through with my hand. We’re gonna need...some firepower.”

“What kind of firepower?” Hunk asked blankly. This time Shiro really did wince.

“We’ll have to use an...explosive.”

“An explosive,” Hunk parroted. “You mean... you mean a bomb? The same type of thing that will immediately alert everyone in the building to your presence, a bomb? The sort of object that would be totally justified in blowing your legs off, a _bomb_? That kind of _bomb_? Are we talking about the same thing here? Because I really hope we aren’t.”

“You won’t have to touch it,” Keith assured. “It’ll go in my pack. It’s a plastic explosive, we won’t even set the charge until we’re ready to use it. You won’t be in any danger.”

“That’s not what I…” Hunk pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Fine. Where does one get a bomb in a city like this on short notice?”

“Allura left one for me in a briefcase in a safety deposit box under her name before she left,” Shiro replied. “The clerk will give it to me once I scan my handprint. But the Alliance will probably see that I accessed the box, so once I have the briefcase we need to move quickly—”

“Hold on,” Hunk inserted. “Why would Allura leave a bomb for you if she didn’t know you would need it?”

“Well, because I told her to,” said Shiro, as if it were obvious. Hunk was running a little pale. “Are you...feeling all right?”

“Yeah, I just…” Hunk dropped his hands, shook his head. “I just...hope you guys know what you’re doing. Look, it’s late. You guys are probably tired from...however the heck you got here, right?”

“Couple stolen cars, high altitude, driving through the cloud cover,” Shiro sighed. “But yeah. I guess.”

“See, I knew it,” Hunk said with bravado. “Let’s talk about the details in the morning. You know, if the cops haven’t come busting my door down by then.” He started removing the couch cushions and Keith went over to help him pull out the rickety sofa bed. “Hang on, I’ll get some pillows.” Shiro was looking out behind the curtain when Keith finished smoothing out the fitted sheet. Keith knew that look, cast off somewhere faraway. He wrung his hands, fingernails catching on Shiro’s gunmetal ring.

“Everything okay?”

“Hm?” Shiro dropped the finger that held the curtain askew. “Yeah, I’m...I’m just tired.” Keith gave the bed a final pat and sidled in, skimming his fingers over Shiro’s sides and bringing his human hand to his lips.

“You sure?” Shiro smiled reassuringly and blew the hair from Keith’s forehead to plant a kiss in its place.

“I’m sure.” So he said. But Keith couldn’t let it go, somehow, not after Hunk returned with the pillows and left them alone with some leftover pasta, and not after the lights were all out and the two of them had stripped and turned down for bed. Keith listened to Shiro’s breathing and tried to ascertain whether or not he was awake. Shiro beat him to the punch.

“You up, Red?”

“Yeah.” Shiro rolled over to face him, cheap box springs squealing. His breath smelled of cigarettes and sweet lime. Keith could really go for one of those right now.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I’m trying not to think at all,” Keith lied. “Better to sleep that way. You?”

Shiro smiled and lifted a hand to cup his face. “You. I’m always thinking about you.”

 _I belong to you_ , Keith thought contentedly, as Shiro caressed him. _You belong to me_.

He snuggled in close to Shiro’s chest, heat be damned, running his knuckles down Shiro’s back and feeling him rumble in pleasure. “You are entirely too charming. You know that?”

Shiro placed a large hand over his waist. “Nothing’s too good for you, baby.” That hand slipped lower and Keith had to stifle a moan. Damn. Keith was making his way to Jesus.

“Shh, no,” he insisted, as Shiro went for an inappropriately sensual kiss. “No, Shiro, Hunk would wake up and also fucking kill us if we had sex on his couch.”

“His inordinately loud couch,” Shiro chuckled. He pumped his hips a few times for emphasis and the couch squawked like a bird. “I didn’t even know they still made boxsprings.”

“Settle down,” Keith giggled, patting him until he grew still. “And tell me what you were really thinking about, when you were looking out that window.” Shiro sighed.

“...You see right through me.” Keith waited patiently and he exhaled again. “I was thinking about us. About you. About...my ability to give you what you need.”

“Shiro,” Keith said. “As long as I’ve got you, darlin’, there ain’t nothing that I need.” Shiro kissed him tenderly.

“Go to sleep, honey,” he whispered. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Keith closed his eyes. It was a dreamless night.

 

The preparations lasted only a few days.

Most of it was waiting, on Keith’s end. It was Hunk that had the most to do; hacking into the target server and deducing the best method of entry to each alien system. He was more than capable; that wasn’t what had Keith concerned. He caught Shiro pacing every time he was left alone, be it half a minute or half an hour.

Keith asked Shiro if he was nervous.

“No, no,” Shiro denied, waving him off. “Just antsy.”

But it wasn’t like Shiro to fidget.

When at last the night came and everything was set, Shiro had checked the cartridge in his blaster so many times Keith had lost count. He pulled the stupid thing from Shiro’s hands and replaced it with a steaming mug.

“Here,” he said. “Drink your coffee. One cream, no sugar. Just how you like it.”

“Thanks.” Shiro had a sip. “Did Allura get in contact?”

“No, I don’t think she received my message from yesterday,” Keith admitted, fiddling with the silver facade of the brand-new comm. “But I sent another this morning. I’m sure it’ll get through eventually, but...did you want to postpone?”

“The outcome will be the same regardless,” Shiro returned, shaking his head. “No point in putting off the inevitable, at least not at this point. She’ll be there. Don’t worry.” Keith held the pack with the charges to his chest.

“Okay.” Hunk arrived in the living room with his keys and they trudged outside to the car, another ‘borrowed’ vehicle from his repair shop.

“Alright, you guys,” he said, as they neared their destination at the edge of the property, a large but unassuming building at the boundary of the entertainment and industrial districts. “I’ll be a few blocks away, close enough to be here right away when you need me. Let me know when you need the sensors shorted, I’ll be waiting. And seriously?” He leveled them with a stare. “You guys be careful. I mean it.”

“We’re always careful,” Keith retorted as Shiro climbed out. Hunk just raised an eyebrow.

“See you in a few,” Shiro called, shutting the door behind Keith, and they were off to the steel ladder of the emergency exit, scaling the side of the building and jumping over the ledge that encircled the roof. Shiro straightened Keith’s black jumper once they were both back on their feet. “Watch your six. We need to be extra careful once we’re in the hallways. Remember to look out for security and don’t hesitate to use your weapon.”

“You know that’s not a problem,” Keith said, raising his blaster and patting the blade at his hip. Shiro’s resulting smile was tight.

“Let’s go.” Shiro tore off the metal grate and Keith crawled into the duct system.

It was a long way to the west wing. Hunk had dropped them in, according to what Shiro remembered about the original plan, the one blind spot that wasn’t covered by a security feed. That same spot happened to be at the north end of the building, so the two of them had a bit of a trek. They kept it as silent as possible, moving hand-to-knee in the cramped space, and when it was time to exit the bowels of the ceiling, Keith alerted Shiro with a gesture rather than a verbal message.

They dropped into the conference room on quiet toes and slunk to the door, waiting behind the door frame and listening for footsteps. When none came, they were free to dart out into the open and around the corner toward the chamber where the crystals were held. Keith, being slightly faster and having memorized the crude map Shiro had drawn of the facility, took up the lead, checking for potential security cams before diving ahead. It was easy enough; security was oddly lax, and what cameras were there could have been angled better, so all things considered Keith really wasn’t too—

A metal hand wrapped around his wrist and Shiro wrenched him back behind the corner, human palm smothering whatever cry might have come out of his mouth. They waited, breathing hard, for evidence that the armed security guard standing in front of the holding chamber had seen Keith run out into the empty hallway, but, impossibly, none came. Keith heard the Galra mumble something into his comm, then slowly amble away down the adjacent hall.

Shit.

Keith gasped as Shiro removed the hand at his mouth. “S...Shiro—”

Shiro was already dialing. “Hunk,” he whispered with urgency. “Hunk, what’s the status on the sensors?”

“Going down now,” Hunk’s tinny voice replied. “Everything smooth on your end?”

“Too smooth,” hushed Shiro. “They know we’re here. It’s a trap.”

“What?!”

“We have to push through,” Keith said. “We’re already here, we can’t just fucking leave without—”

“I know,” Shiro stressed. “But we _have_ to expect an ambush. Where that’ll be, though…”

“Be _careful,_ ” Hunk reminded helplessly. “Jesus—I’m waiting, alright? Just make the call and I’m there, got it?”

“Got it,” Shiro breathed, ending the call and turning to Keith. “We’ve really done it this time.”

“We really did it the last time too,” Keith pointed out, “but we’ll make it out. What’s next? Do we stick to the plan until it fall apart, wing it from there?”

“If I’m not wrong, there’ll be a squad waiting for us down the hall that last guard left down,” Shiro said, looking fixedly at the grey tile of the floor. “If we anticipate them being there, maybe we can take them out without—” He flexed his mechanical arm. “Without too much trouble. I don’t know. It’s worth a shot.” Keith nodded his agreement and, after checking the corridor a second time, they were at the junction of the two halls, standing directly in front of the security chamber. Shiro readied his weapon and, after exchanging a glance with Keith, the two of them ran out into the open, training the business end of their blasters at their expected targets. Keith held his breath. Shiro was _never_ wrong, but.

The hall was empty.

He looked to Shiro, reluctant to ease his stance. “Are...are we early?”

“I don’t know,” Shiro answered, growing pallid. “I—I have no idea.” Keith stashed his blaster and grabbed his arm, hurrying him back to the holding chamber.

“We don’t have time to figure it out. Let’s just get into the holding area and set the charge so we can get the fuck out of here.” Shiro gave a shaky nod and holstered his weapon as well, grabbing one side of the enormous rotating handle and slowly dragging the massive door open with Keith’s help. They abandoned the effort once the door was sufficiently cracked, releasing the handle and slipping sideways together into the room.

And there was the firing squad.

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith yelled, fumbling for his blaster. Shiro shoved him back into the narrow opening that was the entrance just as the guns were raised and activated his metal arm, raising it hot and violet as Keith wormed himself back out of the room. Charges pummeled the metal wall and Shiro lifted his hand to swat away an incoming shot.

Keith watched in horror as the charge tore through the prosthetic and buried itself white-hot in what was left of Shiro’s arm. Shiro screamed as the metal fell away from his elbow, revealing the object that was left embedded in his stump.

The guards weren’t armed with blasters at all. They were using bolt guns.

Keith wrapped his arms around Shiro’s torso and forced them out of the room with more strength than he knew he had. Another squad was waiting for them in the spot Shiro had predicted.

“Are you _shitting_ me,” Keith shouted, shielding Shiro with his body and firing with calculated abandon as Shiro ripped the bolt from his arm with an audible _squelch_. “Shiro, are you—” Another wave of infantry arrived behind the first and Shiro seized him with his remaining hand, dragging him down the hallway from which they first came. Guards came running from all directions and Shiro released him to grab his blaster, aim it shakily with his non-dominant hand. He pulled the trigger and the weapon sizzled sickly. All his fiddling with the cartridge earlier that evening had jammed the slide.

Keith shouldered him aside and put a well-placed shot through each head. He switched blasters with Shiro, using his two hands to unjam the the cartridge, and they were pushing through, though pushing through to _where_ Keith couldn’t say.

“We’re gonna be okay,” he told Shiro, after the next wave of security was put down. “These aliens can’t aim for sh—” A metal bolt narrowly missed his thigh and Shiro riddled the offending party with return fire.

“Come on, baby,” Shiro urged. “We’ve got to find a way out of here.” The communicator on his wrist buzzed with a message from Hunk, wanting an update, but there was no time to stop and send a reply. “...Where are we? Doesn’t this look familiar?”

Keith looked around. Yes, it did. They were in full view of a camera, not that it mattered, but it was a camera that Keith recognized. “We’re back by the conference rooms. They were trying to push us in a different direction, but we circled back. Should we try for the vents, or—” Another group of guards came rushing after them and they were on the move again, Keith shooting while Shiro opened the comm’s interface.

“If we go back in the vents we’ll be shot up from underneath,” Shiro panted. “The safest place is back inside the holding chamber with the vault. We’ve already hit it, they won’t be expecting us to go back—” The call connected. “Hunk!”

“Are those gunshots?!” Hunk cried. “Are you guys oka—”

“Hunk, I need you to _reseal_ the chamber when I give the signal,” Shiro shouted. “I need you to lock us inside and override central command so it can only be opened from the inside.”

“Why would you want that?! You can’t be planning to set the bomb off with you inside—”

“No,” Shiro cut him off. “No, we need to hide inside, can you do it or not?!”

“I’ll do it,” Hunk promised. A well-placed bolt caught the edge of Keith’s blaster, knocking it out of hand. Shiro tossed him his own and they ran full speed in the direction of the vault a few corridors over. The huge door came into view just in time for another pod of guards to notice them and open fire at their backs. Keith fumbled the last blaster and lost it as he crammed himself inside.

“Do it now!” Shiro yelled, squeezing into the chamber after him. “Hunk, _now_!” The door slowly began swinging shut at their backs.

“It’s done,” Hunk said, a little breathless. “It’s done, are you guys all right?” Keith looked up and locked eyes with a huge, bat-eared Galra that clearly hadn’t expected them. “Guys?” Shiro went still behind Keith, who was spreading his arms protectively, forcing them back against the door as the locking mechanism clicked shut. The guard’s grip on his gun tightened and Keith shook violently, pressing Shiro more firmly against the door at his back.

Shiro’s hand descended on his shoulder as the alien raised his weapon. “We’re all right,” he said, chillingly calm. “We’re safe. Thanks.”

He ended the call and threw Keith with all his strength just as the Galra fired.

Keith landed hard a few feet away and rolled to the wall, grabbing the knife sheathed at his hip and jumping to his hands and feet without regard for his winded lungs. The blade transformed as he unsheathed it, growing to three times its length, and Keith dashed for the guard before he had time to properly redirect his aim, dropping low to the ground and slashing at his ankles. The huge body dropped like a struggling elephant and Keith kicked the bolt gun out of his hands as he was smothered by its weight. The Galra roared at him in pain and Keith shrieked in turn, plunging his blade into its neck as the sound of tearing metal ripped from his throat. Blood splashed over him and Keith used both hands to rend the flesh open, drawing the sword left to right across the alien’s already-gaping throat.

He kicked the body off of him once its scuffling stopped and lay there a moment, panting hard. His eyes slipped closed. Now they were safe. Now there was nothing left to do but...but wait for Allura, because she would know what to do, and. And then they could start a new chapter. A clean slate. He voiced as much to Shiro, who hummed in agreement. Keith sighed in relief and took a deep breath before opening his eyes again; slowly pushing himself up onto his forearms; slowly, slowly lifting himself to his feet.

Shiro sat leaning against the wall next to the door, under a long red smear and in a growing puddle of—

Keith couldn’t finish the thought. Shiro’s hand lifted to reveal four long bolts sunk deep into his belly, just below his ribcage. Keith could see the wet sheen on his black shirt from where he stood across the room. His legs carried him without command.

“Oh, God in heaven,” Keith wailed, falling to his knees at the altar of Shiro’s feet. “God in heaven, God in _heaven_ —”

“It’s okay, baby,” Shiro soothed, holding out his hand for Keith to take. “ _It’s okay_. Put your hand here. Keep pressure on it so I can stay with you a little longer.” Keith gagged at the thick smell of blood and stomach acid, but Shiro guided his hand with all the tenderness of a man who had had a long time to come to terms with the reality of his demise. Of course. Of _course_.

“You knew,” Keith sobbed, in hellish revelation. “You _knew_ , and you—you hid it from me for God knows how long—”

“Keith.” Shiro squeezed his hand. “Listen to me one last time. Allura is going to come and she is going to take you away, baby. And you won't believe me, but there will eventually come a time when you find somebody else, someone good to take care of you. I'm so sorry I couldn't give you what you need, but—thank you. For loving me when you didn’t have to.” He pulled Keith closer, guided his head to his shoulder. “Just remember me and remember that I loved you. I love you. I always have.”

“There will never be anyone else,” Keith wept, clutching him. He wasn't deaf to it, he could hear the difference; was aware of the change in Shiro's voice when he spoke words of comfort versus words of promise. This was the former; Shiro had seen nothing. “There is no other person in this world that I will ever love, I'm not _meant_ for it—Shiro— _Shiro_ —”  Shiro shook his head, drawing wet fingers through his loose hair, and held Keith tight until his sobs turned dry and quiet, until the pool of blood beneath them stopped growing and his body grew weak.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured then, with faint resolve. “I’m sorry I told you I never lied to you when I did.” He took a cathartic breath. “There was no eyelash.” Shiro’s exhale was shaky and wet. “I was going to kiss you.”

Keith took a ragged breath and summoned the full force of his glamour, let it permeate the air and saturate his voice. “ _You are not allowed to leave me,”_ he whispered furiously. Shiro’s shook his head minutely, eyes blown wide as Keith balled a hand in his shirt. “ _Not allowed to leave me behind._ Do you hear me? You’re not allowed to—to—”

Keith buried his face in Shiro’s shoulder and clamped his eyes shut as his breaths came fast and shallow and finally not at all. He mustered all his courage to look up and confirm what he already knew.

Shiro wasn’t there.

Keith turned into him for proof that he had been real—burying his nose in the crook of his neck where his mild scent was strongest—and cried for him a long time, every tear a plea to the universe to give him back, every sob a fruitless letter to God to return his stolen eternal soul.

The seat of Keith’s pants dampened and he looked down to see ooze seeping into the tight fabric. He opened his mouth to scream, to cry, to vomit, perhaps, but the communicator on Shiro’s wrist lit up with an incoming call.

Allura.

Keith gently removed it, pushing down the lump in his throat at the glint of the ring on his thumb. “ _Allura_ ,” he said, hoarse. “Allura, I—”

“Keith,” she said portentously. “I got your message, I’m in orbit now. You’re already in the holding facility?”

“Yes, I’m—” He rubbed his eyes. He felt numb. “But Shiro...S-Shiro is—”

“I know,” Allura interrupted, clipped. Keith stared at the comm in disbelief.

“You _know_?”

“Yes, I know. Keith, I—” She was trying not to cry. “I know Shiro has already died.”

“Why do you know that,” Keith demanded, feeling his tears welling up again. “ _How_ do you—”

“When I liberated Shiro from that damnable prison, I made a covenant with him in exchange for entering my service,” Allura explained, smothering her tears. “That he would help me recover what was mine, and that I would help protect what was his. I would retrieve you, on this day that he died, and ask you to take over his work on my ship.” She took a moment and steadied her voice. “I understand if your answer is no. But I _will_ honor him by keeping my promise. Tell me where you are and I swear to you, I will get you out.”

“...I’m in the holding chamber,” Keith said dully. “I’m next to the vault.”

“I’m coming,” Allura returned. “Stay on the line.”

So that was it, then. Keith was a slave to fate, some grand design which he was blind to, and the loving plan which Shiro had carefully laid. Keith wondered how many times that plan had crossed Shiro’s mind while he had lain sleeping in their bed, peacefully oblivious. How he should have let his inner beast dictate his actions. How he should have torn the truth from Shiro, no matter how painful. How Shiro could be so beautifully, excruciatingly, _good._

Bitter fluid filled his mouth and Keith’s mind began wandering elsewhere, outside of this small chamber and into the hall presumably still full of security personnel. The fault wasn’t limited to the dead guard lying some yards away. They were responsible, too. For this. For Shiro.

He moaned, low at first, then louder, letting the acrid water fall from his lips. Something burned in his stomach. He wanted fire, and blood.

Keith pulled the backpack from his shoulders and opened it. The silver briefcase lay inside. He pulled it out, opened it. Set the charge with fingers shaking with rage and remembered what Shiro had said to him in what was now a painful memory: _Grief is forever._

Not Keith’s. Keith would take what was owed with all the fury of a dying star. And the number of lives he was entitled to...well. As many as he could get his hands on.

 _Baby_ , Shiro’s voice echoed in his head as his pants were soaked through. _Sweetheart, what are you doing?_ Keith ignored it. His Shiro was gone.

He sent a text to Hunk. _Open the door._

“Keith?” Allura worried when he was silent too long. “Keith, are you still there? Keith—”

“You’ll never get to me,” he told her. “Never Not with the security outside.”

“What do you mean?” Allura’s voice pitched high. “What are you planning to do?!”

“I’m going to make a hole,” Keith said simply. He clipped the comm to his wrist and, case in hand, stood hidden behind the wall next to the door.

“What does that mean? Keith? _Keith!_ ” The lock clicked open and the door slowly swung outward. Keith waited until it was open fully to flip the cap open on the detonator. There was movement outside, uncertain shuffles of feet. He crouched, bitter liquid flowing freely from his mouth. “ _Don’t_ —”

Keith took a last, harrowing breath, and hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus concludes Keith's character arc. Wonder what chapter 7 will be about... hm...
> 
> One more chapter to go, ladies and gentlemen. I don't have an estimate on a word count. I guess it'll be as long as it needs to be.  
> I'm not planning to continue writing after this. It's not a 'never,' and I guess it's been an ok run, but my art has been suffering so I feel I should at least partially turn back to that while I'm back in school.
> 
> Keith and Shiro both have Spotify playlists if you guys are into that kind of thing. If anyone is interested I can link to it here in the notes.
> 
> As always you can find me on twitter @marinoxxycontin or on tumblr @marinoxx. Feel free to ask questions here or there, leave a comment flaming me or send me a PM/DM threatening my life over the conclusion of this chapter. My beta told me our relationship is on the rocks, whoops. 
> 
> See you next time.

**Author's Note:**

> usual link to [my main blog](https://marinoxxycontin.tumblr.com) and also [my art blog](https://marinoxx.tumblr.com) where I post shitty drawings and fic updates.


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